


the hurricanes came for me

by laminatedroses



Series: come hell or high water [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adorable Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Drowning, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Merpeople, Romance, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laminatedroses/pseuds/laminatedroses
Summary: It’s 3:12pm on a lovely summer’s day when the railing of Carl’s yacht gives out beneath Markus and plunges him headfirst into the ocean.This... isn't ideal,Markus thinks, watching the shimmering blue surface rush up to meet him.





	1. my eyes turned blue and green

**Author's Note:**

> story and chapter title comes from owl city's 'how i became the sea'
> 
> the last time i wrote fanfic was like five years ago and now i'm Back
> 
> enjoy!

It’s 3:12pm on a lovely summer’s day when the railing of Carl’s yacht gives out beneath Markus and plunges him headfirst into the ocean.

 _I really hope Leo enjoys being an only child again,_ he thinks, as the world briefly slows to give him the 4K ultra high definition experience of falling off a boat.

Then he hits the water.

It’s like a slap to the face. His mind clears abruptly, what little haze of afternoon drowsiness rushing away as water races up his nose and into his mouth. It tastes of sea salt and panic, because, surprise, he’s fallen into the _goddamn ocean_ and his only hope of survival is zipping away, drunk as a skunk and high as a kite.

His eyes sting against the sea salt, but he ignores it, swimming frantically towards the surface. But no matter how hard he flails, the bright blue sky above only seems to get further and further away.

And then he feels a tug at his sweater. For a single, alarmed second, he freezes, his increasingly more frantic mind cycling through every single creepypasta and horror story he’s ever read. Then he looks down. Tangled in the lower half of his sweater is a long, metal bar—part of the ship’s railing. With no small relief, he sheds the sweater and kicks away. Already, his lungs are burning for air.

He struggles against the push and pull of subsurface currents buffeting him around as he closes the gap between him and precious air. Then he resurfaces, taking a huge gasp that feels more water than air, and blinks the water out of his eyes–

–only to gape in horror at the giant wave bearing down on him.

It plunges him back beneath the surface with all the force of a cartoon anvil. What little air he’s managed to regain rushes out in a useless flurry of bubbles, and he flails wildly as the wave folds him deep beneath the surface.

His head spins, even as the ocean throws him around like so much errant debris. Every fibre of his being aches for air. He forces himself to swim, but the surface only drifts further and further away as his limbs drag weakly. The vice-like grip around his chest clenches tighter and tighter as the world goes dark.

He breathes.  
\---

Fire. _Everywhere._ His entire esophagus _burns_ as water, more water than he even thought possible, makes a valiant bid for freedom outside of Markus’ lungs. He splutters and gasps, hunched over the lip of a rock formation he has no memory of swimming to.

His heartbeat is still pounding rapidly in his ears, so he feels the wet spray of something hitting the stone to his left more than he hears it. He turns, slightly, only to spot his discarded sweater. His eyebrows shoot up. Then up some more, as part of the metal railing he’d taken with him clatters onto his sweater.

Markus twists around and finds himself staring into a startled-looking young man, still half-submerged in the ocean. He sticks out his hand to help pull him up, but he only flinches away.

“Did you save me?” Markus asks instead.

There’s a pause, then he nods. His brown hair flops down into his equally deep brown eyes, and Markus’ breath catches in his throat. He tries very hard to not hyperfixate on the drop of water slowly tracing the line of his jaw.

His eyes hyperfixate on the drop of water slowly tracing the line of his collarbone instead. Damn it.

Markus is very screwed, and not because he’s stranded on a rock in the middle of fucking nowhere, ocean.

Oblivious to his useless gay thoughts, the stranger reaches up to brush the hair out of his eyes–

–and Markus freezes.

A thin web stretches along each of his fingers, covered in the same golden freckles scattered across his skin.

Unbidden, Markus’ gaze falls below the waves, and his jaw drops as he catches a glimpse of a long, sinuous tail. Now that he’s seeing it, he doesn’t know how he could’ve missed it. The scales covering it are the same delicate gold as his freckles—which, upon a closer look, are also scales, albeit smaller and more spread out.

He opens and closes his mouth several times.

“That’s… a nice tail you’ve got there,” Markus manages.

He blinks. Said tail ripples, and Markus watches with unbridled awe as his scales change from a shimmering gold to a pale blue.

“Thank you,” he says. “I grew it myself.”

Markus has no idea how to respond to that. 

“I would’ve died if you weren’t there,” he says eventually. “Thank you.”

The stranger opens, then closes his mouth, several times. “I–” he says, finally, before his entire body stiffens and his tail shifts a bright, angry red. “–I have to go.”

“Wait–!”

With barely a splash, the merman dives below the waves. Markus catches one last flicker of his long red tail before he disappears.

“–I don’t even know your name,” he finishes lamely to the graceful ripples left in his wake.

The ripples do not respond, and in fact spit at him for his impertinence. Markus blinks away the water from the waves splashing up and buries his face in his hands.

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks.


	2. back to the river's edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take me back to the river's edge  
> I wandered out alone  
> Never thought that I was coming home. -Fossil Collective, "River's Edge"  
> 

Connor likes to think that he’s fairly flexible. Living in the ocean demands a certain amount of adaptability to the unpredictable, owing to its dynamic nature, and he hasn’t survived this long without being able to think on his fins.

That being said, there doesn’t seem to be any amount of adaptability in his mind that can keep him functioning properly when his heart refuses to keep a steady rhythm.

He has never met a single human—or a single entity, thinking of everything he’s hunted—with the ability to see through the Miasma. Connor knows he’s cloaked himself properly—he’s done it since his minnow days. But there really is no protocol for what to do when a human sees through the cloak.

...Nor is there really any protocol for what to do when receiving compliments from a human, either.

His scales go a traitorous, content blue, and Connor fights to keep the color from his cheeks. This is completely unprecedented.

**_Connor? What are you doing?_**

He stiffens. Her voice comes from all around him and nowhere, echoing to him through the Miasma. Just a projection, but one which catches him grossly off-guard nevertheless.

**_I’d like to see you, please._**

“I have to go,” he stutters out to the human and dives away, careful not to splash water up.

His mind is racing, even as his heart stutters once, twice, making the switch from breathing air to breathing water.

As he gently pushes through the barrier to the Miasma, the sway of ocean currents comes to an abrupt halt, replaced by the slight hum of magic. It prickles at his skin, and almost seems to press _through_ him, sending sparks through his mind. The entire world goes grey, what little sunlight filtering down through the waves turning a gentle silver. Through the Miasma, the distance between the surface of the ocean and her Garden closes rapidly. In fact, the magic itself begins to push him along the path.

 _She can’t possibly have been watching,_ he tells himself. _The distance is too large. There’s no way for her to have known._

_Unless..._

_Ah. Obviously._

He narrows his eyes.

_Niles._

\---

Amanda’s Garden sits at the very edge of where the Miasma meets the Earth, tucked in a series of interlocking underwater caves. He finds the entrance quickly, eyes catching on the heat wobble-like distortion of the Miasmic entrance superimposed on the greyscale, Earthly entrance. With the concentration of emotion surrounding the Garden, it’s little wonder the Miasma has formed a copy of it in its realm. Its shape wavers and fluctuates as he twists through the narrow passageway, until he reaches the hub.

Amidst the darkened grey of the Miasma, the Garden is a riot of color, with tropical fish swimming lazily around the higher dimension. Their scales flicker and flash, lit only by floating orbs of soft, white light dotted all around the cave. Up the walls and across the floor, fronds of silky seagrass sway gently with every swish of his tail, brushing lightly against his skin and scales.

He trails a hand through a shock of glossy kelp, catching a glimpse of his tail turning blue from the corner of his eye.

This place never fails to bring him a sense of calm.

A few curious fish swarm into his space, and he waves them away gently, spotting a brief flash of movement through a side tunnel.

 _ **Connor,**_ she greets warmly as he enters the room. Her electric field radiates serenity, and the soft current of her voice does nothing to ease the odd thrumming of his heart.

 _ **Hello, Amanda,**_ he replies, keeping a careful hold over his own electric field to prevent even a flicker of anything other than calm from showing.

She snips delicately at the verdancy, her shears flickering with a monochrome double image. _**It’s good to see you.**_

_**It’s good to see you, too.**_

She brushes a few errant sprigs of aquatic grass from her fins, then twists around in one smooth movement. **_I heard something interesting from your brother today._**

Every little bit of his concentration goes to keeping his tail a placid blue. He feels his hands twitch, longing for a smooth stone or shell to fiddle with. Then he tamps down on the desire, looking straight at Amanda with an impassive face.

 ** _Connor,_** she says, her eyes trained on his, **_you know how I feel about you going near the surface._**

 _ **Yes, Amanda,**_ he replies. **_But I heard a disturbance, so I went to investigate, in case it was a danger to us. It was only a human falling overboard._**

Her eyebrows go up. **_Did they see you?_**

_**I was cloaked the entire time.**_

She hums. _**I see.**_

The light catches the lighter-brown speckles on her tail as she swims forward. His electroreceptors prickle at the proximity, but Connor only turns his head slightly.

 _ **Humans are dangerous. Unpredictable.**_ She shakes her head. _**Their technology develops at a rate that spells disaster for us all. We don’t know if they will ever develop a means to sense the Miasma, or to see through the cloak.**_

The wide brim of her wing-like fins brushes against his side as she places a hand on his shoulder. **_Please, just be careful, Connor. For my sake._**

_**Yes, Amanda.**_

She searches his face for a moment, then smiles gently. _**You and Niles are my greatest treasures,**_ she admits softly. _**I want nothing more than to see you both safe and sound.**_

Connor swallows, unfamiliar with the feeling burning in his chest. Like a stone, swallowed as if a pearl from an oyster, his heart sinks deeper and deeper as he stares Amanda in the eye.

He shouldn’t have broken the rules.

But he couldn’t just let the human _die._

Amanda pats his arm, unaware of his inner turmoil. _**Now,**_ she says, swimming to an untrimmed patch of seagrass. _**Tell me about the rest of your patrol.**_

\---

Niles ambushes him just outside of the Garden. _**You lied to her,**_ he says immediately.

_**I did not.**_

He may have omitted things, perhaps, but no outright lies.

Niles frowns, twisting around him in tight, furious loops. _**You went to that human, didn’t you?**_ He demands.

_**I had to.**_

He slows to a stop. _**You... had to…?**_ He asks, squinting at Connor.

_**He fell overboard too far from land. Had he drowned, it’s very likely the authorities would’ve gotten involved. It would disrupt our territory, and interfere with our hunting.**_

Connor pauses.

_**And I couldn’t just... watch.**_

He feels his tail flash gold, though thankfully at this depth it’s impossible to see. He doesn’t know why he’s telling his younger brother when he knows Niles won’t understand.

Then again, a few years ago, Connor likely wouldn’t have understood either.

Niles circles him slowly. _**That’s what you’re supposed to do,**_ he says carefully. _**It’s what Amanda told us to do.**_

_**I know.**_

_But it seems wrong,_ he doesn’t say.

 _ **It won’t happen again,**_ he lies, instead.

_**Amanda will want to know–**_

_**Don’t–!**_ He grabs Niles’ arm. _**Don’t tell Amanda.**_

**_Why?_**

Connor hesitates. _**There’s no need to concern her with something that has already been taken care of,**_ he says slowly.

Niles gives him a searching look, black-and-white tail lashing up and down. Then he sighs, releasing a flurry of bubbles. _**I hope you understand what you’re doing,**_ he says.

Connor hopes so too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not entirely certain i'm very satisfied with this chapter, but it's kicked my ass for long enough that i figured i may as well move on. hope you all enjoy!!! ♥♥♥
> 
> i'll be making a brief overview on the Miasma on my tumblr soon, so maybe come check that out [here!](http://laminatedroses.tumblr.com)


	3. a still tension in the swell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anchorless and unmoored set amiss  
> Awake would only prove the fantasy made lucid sense. -Miracle Musical, "Stranded Lullaby"

The first thing that tips Markus off that _maybe_ he’s not as okay after drowning as he seems is when he wakes up and grabs his phone, only to blink up at what appears to be a ghost phone haunting his phone.

“What…” He starts, then trails off as his eyes focus on the ceiling above him. The two ceilings, rather. One, greyish and solid-looking, the other wisping about the first like smoke.

His mouth hangs open as his mind scrambles ass-first into wakefulness. He slowly raises his phone and snaps a photo, then sends it to the Jericho group chat.

**[9:04am] karcus:** attached_image87482734964.jpg  
**[9:04am] karcus:** Does anyone else see this  
**[9:05am] simon sez:** The ceiling?  
**[9:05am] simon sez:** Whats wrong with it? 

That would be a no. Markus squeezes his eyes shut, then presses his hands into them until a kaleidoscope spreads across the backs of his eyelids. Opens them.

The ceiling wavers back at him cheerfully.

**[9:08am] karcus:** Never mind 

It’s not just the ceiling, Markus finds, over the next few days. It’s the entire house. It’s his phone. The paintings. Even his _pens,_ for god’s sake. Half the time he reaches to grab a marker, it’s not even _real._

Being outside is no better. Even though not every building has a wavering double image, enough of them do that going anywhere is an exercise in vertigo and staring very intently at his shoes. Bikes, purses, dog leashes, even the occasional park bench flicker wildly at the edges of his vision.

The final straw finally comes when he’s stress-eating ice cream, of all things.

It’s been three days since he woke up to these flickering copies, and frankly, Markus thinks he deserves a treat for being so level-headed. He twirls the spoon idly between mouthfuls, watching his reflection stare back morosely—

—wait.

His eyes are supposed to be _green._

Markus watches his own eyes, one green, one _blue,_ narrow at himself.

“What the fuck.”

\---

“I’m taking these,” Markus announces as he snatches the keys to the ship from Leo’s desk. “Don’t tell dad.”

“Don’t fall off the fucking boat again.”

Markus glares, but the effect is somewhat lost when Leo doesn’t even look up from his computer.

He hits his first snag halfway to the docks.

 _How do you catch a mermaid?_ He wonders, then slams on the brakes and veers off down a side street—ignoring the angry warbling of a horn behind him—to a local market.

He leaves with more fish than he knows what to do with, which is an opinion the fishmonger clearly shares, from their dubious look. That’s fine. If Markus needs to buy an entire goddamn aquarium to make these ghosts go away, he’ll do it.

From then on, it’s as straightforward as hunting for a mythical creature can get. The ship jerks to life beneath him as he takes it out from the docks, passing the cluster of other ships—and, oddly enough, a hot pink, boat-sized, inflatable flamingo—until he reaches open water. Then he wracks his brain for the exact path Leo had taken to get back to the stone outcropping where the merman had left him, tying whatever loose threads of memory he still has of the incident together in a lopsided, haphazard knot.

In the aftermath of falling off the ship, Markus had mostly chalked up the merman’s appearance to a near-death hallucination of some sort. The fact that he’d sort of fell into a fugue state after Leo had finally come back for him didn’t help matters.

Of course, then his ceiling had turned to jelly. That’d sort of erased any doubts in his mind.

Markus cuts the engine a little ways off from the cluster of rocky outcroppings and reaches into one of the many sacks beside him. The sensation of moist scales on his skin makes him want to cringe into the sun, but Markus is nothing but efficient, so he tosses the fish into the ocean with only a small shiver.

Nothing happens.

Well, a few seagulls descend on the fish corpse and go to town, but that’s hardly what Markus is looking for. Or who, rather.

Markus drops a few more fish overboard for good measure. Hey, he bought all this fucking fish. Might as well.

He watches with steadily-growing disappointment as his offerings sink slowly, no merman in sight. The ship railing gains an entourage of seagulls, just hovering like vultures for his next fishy present. One pecks at his phone.

“That’s mine,” he tells it.

The seagull squawks back at him.

“Are you talking to a seagull?” Comes a voice from behind him.

Markus makes an undignified noise as he jumps and very nearly falls overboard, _again._ His hand comes down on the railing with a quiet ‘ting!’ as he steadies himself, then he peeks over the edge.

The merman stares back up at him, arms resting on the end of the boat.

“I…” Markus says lamely. “Yes. I was talking to the seagull.”

The merman nods, as though that doesn’t seem odd to him.

“You shouldn’t be dropping those in the ocean,” he says very seriously. “It’s bad for the fish.”

Markus’ gaze slides guiltily over the remainder of his impulse fish purchase, and he surreptitiously nudges the nearest bag under a bench. “I wasn’t sure how else to find you.”

“Why?”

He tilts his head slightly, looking for all intents and purposes like a soaked and confused puppy. Markus’ mouth goes dry.

“I–I–” He stops. Clears his throat. “Hi. I… never got to introduce myself, the other day. Thank you again for saving me. I’m Markus.”

“I only did what was necessary,” the merman replies.

“Still, thank you anyway.”

The merman stares up at him, face blank but for the slight furrow between his brows. His tail swishes once, a flashing gold movement that sees his lacy, white fins trailing behind slowly like smoke. It’s almost like a gradient, Markus notes, how his tail goes from a solid gold to paler and paler increments, until the ends of the delicate-looking fins are a pure, ghostly white.

He tries to attribute this to his artist brain talking. The little pride flag flickering around—doubled, no less—on the tail of the ship says otherwise.

“My name is Connor,” he finally says. “Is that the only reason you wanted to see me?”

“...Not quite.” Markus really hopes Connor knows something. Anything. Otherwise he’ll have bought all that fish for no reason. “I thought maybe you might be able to explain all the strange things I’ve been seeing, recently.”

Connor leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Things?”

“Ghostly double images,” Markus clarifies. He lifts up his phone, watches as its copy wobbles all around his hand. “Like this.”

His eyes flicker between Markus’ face and his hand. Then he reaches out slowly, palm upraised. His intent is very clear.

Still, Markus hold some skepticism over handing a _sea creature_ his _electricity-based phone._

“I won’t take your human square,” Connor finally says, the slight monotone of his voice tinged with… exasperation? Impatience? “I have no need of it.”

“It’s a phone,” Markus says, and places it in his hand–

 _–literally._ The solid outline of his phone—for lack of a better term, _clips_ through Connor’s hand.

Markus’ hand immediately darts out to grab it. “Oh my go–”

The words die in his mouth. For the first time since Markus’ started seeing double, the ghost phone stops wobbling, looking for all intents and purposes as just a slightly offset, monochrome copy of his phone.

Connor frowns down at it.

“Are… are you okay?” Markus ventures, when the merman doesn’t speak.

There’s a long pause, before finally: “You see into the Miasma.”

_The what?_

Connor’s head snaps up, focused brown eyes drilling into Markus’ head. _“How?”_

“I don’t even know what the Miasma is,” he says helplessly. “To be honest, I didn’t know _mermaids_ existed until a few days ago, either.”

He studies Markus’ face for what feels like hours, but is probably actually only a few seconds. Whatever truth he sees there, he clearly accepts, because his tail shifts to a soft blue, and finally, he explains, “What you’re seeing are echoes of the emotion surrounding something, reflected into the Miasma. A… higher plane, you could call it, parallel to your own.”

Markus struggles for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing. Finally, in a deliberately level voice, he says, “Cool.”

“You seem troubled,” Connor says mildly, passing Markus his phone even as he tucks his chin into his other palm.

“No–” he clears his throat and says in a lower voice, “No, I’m just… readjusting.”

Leaning back, his eyes lift from the ocean to focus off into the distance. There’s a slowly growing band of soft yellow light at the edge of the horizon, and Markus knows it’s nearing sunset.

He lets out a long sigh.

“So it’s a higher plane.”

Connor nods.

“And these echoes are made from... emotions?”

“From emotional attachments to the object in question, yes.”

“I see.” Markus narrows his eyes. “You held onto my phone, earlier. How?”

“I can travel between the planes. Depending on which I’m in, I can interact with that plane’s structures.”

Unprompted, he demonstrates by putting _his entire arm_ through one side of the ship.

Markus gapes.

There’s no distortion, no _anything_ to make it seem like he isn’t just clipping through like a game glitch. Connor pulls his arm back without a scratch left on either his arm or the boat, the wall as pristine as the day Markus and Leo got grounded and had to swab the deck because Carl thought it’d be funny.

“...I don’t suppose that’s something I can do now, too?” Markus asks, half jokingly, half genuine curiosity.

Connor frowns. “It’s… unprecedented, but it’s possible, yes.”

The inner six year-old in Markus crows with delight, until he pictures losing control of the ability and falling through to the core of the Earth. He shudders. “I’m not going to fall through the ground by accident, am I?”

“I’ve never been on land,” says Connor, with a small shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

“This isn’t something I expected to have to worry about,” Markus says under his breath.

Neither is it something he meant to be heard, but clearly merfolk hearing far surpasses human hearing, as Connor cocks his head to the side, a salt-touched curl of brown hair flopping into his eyes, and says, “I could teach you,” in a quiet, almost... hopeful? voice. His tail changes to a solid gold.

And, well. Markus is gay, not stupid.

 _Though one could argue that they’re one in the same,_ a small part of his brain points out.

“I’d like that,” Markus replies, because he has the impulse control of a toddler and the self-preservation instinct of a walnut. “But how do I repay you?”

 _Sand dollars,_ he thinks to himself, then coughs to hide his laugh.

“I…” Connor’s eyes flicker away as he hesitates. “I don’t know much about life on the surface… but I’d like to?”

Markus’ eyes drop to his golden tail, now swishing back and forth slowly. _Kind of like a dog,_ he thinks to himself with no small amusement. “I guess that must make it a little difficult to travel on land,” he says wryly.

“In part,” Connor concedes, inclining his head. “Do we have a deal?”

Markus thinks of stories of the fey, of botched deals and human thralls. He thinks of old campfire stories, of newer creepypastas and urban legends, and of all of these spreading through the consciousness of humanity, whether by mouth or by sleepless, midnight curiosity. The possibility of these tales being even _slightly_ based on reality crosses his mind.

Maybe Connor isn’t exactly a fey creature or demon. But looking at the colorful speckled scales decorating Connor’s skin and the shape of his soft brown eyes, slightly off in some indescribable way, a tiny, deeply buried instinct screams, _Do not tell him your name, do not make deals with him._

Instead, he says, “Yes.”

And so begins the next, possibly oddest chapter of Markus’ life, going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ocean Branch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college starts back up tomorrow for me, so while i'm hoping to keep up my current (slow) update rate, i might not be able to!! but rest assured, i am _definitely_ finishing this fic. i have it all planned out to the end! and other works in the series! boy, do i have plans.... :3c
> 
> anyways hope y'all enjoy!!
> 
> oh also that giant hot pink flamingo floatie that markus sees is totally from my actual life. i went down to the harbor and there was literally a giant fucking inflatable flamingo docked like a regular ship and i was like what the fuck


	4. amidst the torrents and the cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting out upon the waves in darkness and upheaval  
> I was told that I alone would not know good and evil  
> Oh, but in time... -Dar Williams, "The Light And The Sea"

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the Miasma was Connor’s life, because in a way, it truly was. Like most aetherborn, he had come to be when the first threads of human consciousness that made up his being coalesced and condensed to a physical form. He had taken his first breath within the Miasma. His first memory was of traveling through the Miasma in Amanda’s arms, of the dappled grey of his surroundings. Even the first bits of magic he was taught were of manipulating the fabric of the realm, to pull it around him like a safety blanket.

Suffice to say, Connor has never known a life without the Miasma. And unfortunately, Markus has never known a life _with_ the Miasma.

This makes teaching something of an adventure.

“Try… sensing the miasmic reflection. Maybe close your eyes. Reach out and try to feel it.”

“I’m trying,” Markus says, eyes squeezed shut and hand hovering over his ring.

Connor had asked for his phone, “to practice with,” he’d said. But then Markus’ face had twisted oddly as he cited something to do with electricity and water, then something else about being short, until finally he pulled off a ring and asked whether that would do. Considering that its miasmic reflection was even more solid than that of his phone, he’d acquiesced.

Markus slowly puts his hand down. There is a moment, where Connor watches with bated breath–

–and the ring’s reflection wobbles through Markus’ palm. For the seventeenth time.

Connor frowns.

“This isn’t working,” he says.

Markus opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the harsh sunlight. “I’d noticed, thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

Connor picks the ring up, weighs it contemplatively as he shifts his hand between planes. Overall, the design is fairly geometric, with blocky edges and faceted parts. At its two sides are odd-yet-detailed engravings, surrounding an inlaid blue gemstone, and the whole of it is a polished silver. It’s a solid weight in his palm—and so too is its reflection, though it wavers between being light as air and being a loosely-compacted weight.

If Markus could just… _feel_ the Miasma, somehow, perhaps…

His head shoots up. “Markus, come in the water with me.”

“What?”

“I can bring things with me to the other plane,” he explains. “Let me show you the Miasma. It may make more sense, then.”

Markus looks at Connor. Looks down at himself. “Alright, but I’m going to need to change.”

 _Is this a human trait, or just Markus?_ Connor wonders as he disappears somewhere inside the ship. He leans back into the water, does a few idle laps around the metal hull as he stares up at the cloudless blue sky. _I need a bigger sample size to tell–_

He jolts to a halt, his last burst of momentum pushing him along before he begins to sink. A chill creeps up his back, and irrationally, he wonders whether Amanda is near. He hopes not. Half-truths and untruths by omission are one thing; if she knew what he had been thinking…

Amanda had had rules, as Connor and Niles grew up. Never go to the surface, never interact with the humans… the list went on. _To keep them safe,_ she’d explained, and taught them to fear the rumble of ships overhead, the lightning flash of their deadly sawblades and the humans with their nets and knives.

Connor still shies away from propellers, even now. Niles would never admit it, but Connor knows he still does the same.

His mind screeches to a halt as Markus reappears at the prow, arms full of long, multi-colored tubes.

“What... are those?” He asks.

An odd, choked noise escapes Markus’ mouth before he clamps it shut. “...They’re pool noodles,” he finally says, and lets them flop over the side of the ship into the water with a quiet plop.

Connor pokes at a violently pink noodle. Its rough-yet-smooth texture is unlike anything he’s ever felt, and he gives it another few experimental prods. There’s an awful, shrill screech as it brushes the hull of the ship, and he skitters back, the sound ringing harshly as his movement propels the noodles against the hull again. He flinches, sinking until his ears are beneath the surface, with only his eyes peeking out.

Whatever this material is, he does _not_ like it.

_Humans create the strangest things._

Skirting a wide circle around the noodles, he swims up to Markus, who freezes. A peculiar look crosses his face, before he swallows and looks away. “They’re for floating,” he says, to Connor’s furrowed eyebrows.

He pushes forward and up out of the water. “I can see that, but why?”

“Just a precaution,” Markus says lightly, though the knuckles of his left hand blanch— _clasped tightly around the nearest bench leg, not the railing?_ —as he leans over the edge of the ship. He makes a face as he dips his other hand into the water near Connor. “I don’t suppose it gets any warmer, does it?” He asks ruefully.

“It won’t be for long,” Connor promises.

He sighs, then reaches for two orange noodles. “Alright,” he says, sighing again. “Okay. Let’s go.”

For all his reticence, Markus slips into the water gracefully, and with only a single hissed expletive. Connor’s heard a lot worse. Unfazed, he swims in closer, scans Markus up and down as he shuffles his noodles around.

He squirms a bit under Connor’s gaze. “Are you… looking for something?”

Connor hums noncommittally and circles around the back. “I’m trying to determine the best approach,” he says, and places a hand on Markus’ shoulder.

He jumps, then laughs nervously. “It kind of looks like you’re going to eat me.”

“I don’t eat humans,” Connor says with a frown, circling back to the front.

“No, I mean–it’s a little intimidating. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Carry on.”

Connor’s frown deepens. “I’ve frightened you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not you, I’m just… I’m a little nervous in the ocean, after almost dying.”

_Oh._

“I won’t let you drown again,” Connor says, and holds out his hand. “I promise.”

To his credit, Markus sends him little more than a slightly hesitant look before taking it.

His hand is… very soft.

Connor pushes the thought away and concentrates, reaching for the edge of the Miasma. He pulls the cloak over himself, then expands it, inch by inch, extending from where their hands hands meet. It’s difficult, to say the least. The cloak fights him at every turn, no doubt due to Markus’ humanity. It’s like trying to hold water with a net. By the time he has the barrier over the rest of Markus, he can feel himself shaking slightly.

He takes a deep breath, then _pushes–_

Distantly, he hears Markus’ gasp, followed by an, “Oh my god.”

Connor opens his eyes to a familiar greyscale world and smiles. “Welcome to the Miasma, Markus.”

“This is amazing,” he breathes, looking around in wonder. “This is– _wow.”_

It’s been so long since Connor learned to jump between the planes that he’s almost forgotten what it was like to see an entirely different universe. Amanda’s garden had always had life, but swimming out from the cavern and crossing over the barrier for the first time, seeing the vibrant, all-encompassing blue of the ocean all around him…

It had been life-changing, for him. From the look on Markus’ face, it seems to be the case for him as well.

“I… Wow. It feels so...” Markus trails off. “I feel _everything._ Is that... normal?”

“What are you feeling?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t _know,_ it’s so…” He laughs, a quick, breathy sound of pure astonishment. “It’s like every happy emotion I’ve ever felt in my life—every emotion of my life, even.” Another laugh escapes him, and he turns to look at Connor.

Connor freezes.

Markus’ eyes are piercing, their color sharp against the soft, fuzzy grey of their surroundings. One like old sea glass, polished and luminous from the waves, the other a crisp, clear blue like the sky. They shine with joy, with awe, with so many more emotions than Connor can name.

 _They’re beautiful,_ he thinks.

\--

It’s sunset when they finally resurface. The clouds burn orange and gold at the edges, even as the sky itself iridesces from blue to pink to purple, a gradient all the way down to the edge of the horizon.

Markus whistles lowly. “Time really flew by, huh.”

“I should’ve kept an eye out. I’m sorry, Markus.”

“No, don’t worry, it’s not a problem.” He pauses. “Well, not entirely.”

Connor cocks his head to the side.

“Well, I owe you a lesson about the surface, don’t I?”

“Oh.” He’d completely forgotten. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ll make it a quick one.” He thinks for a second, then grabs a pool noodle and pushes back off the edge of the boat. “So, I told you they were for floating earlier, but really, pool noodles are a toy.”

Markus dips the noodle below the surface, and air bubbles up from its hollow core. Connor watches as the bubbles peter off one by one, until no air remains. He lifts it back to the surface–

And brings it to his mouth and _blows._

Water splashes against his face, and Connor blinks, the semi-translucent film of his second eyelids briefly obscuring his vision before opening back to Markus’ stunned face.

“Markus, I’m part fish.”

“...I–yeah. I realize that, now.”

Connor reaches for the noodle, turning it in his grasp slowly. “Is this how humans play? It seems rather dangerous for a land-based species.”

“Well, a bit of harmless danger never hurt anyone.”

Slowly, Connor nods. “I see.”

Then he quickly dives underwater and slaps his tail against the surface. He doesn’t see the resulting splash, but he does comes back up to see Markus, completely soaked and bemusedly brushing the water from his face.

“Lesson learned, I suppose,” he says wryly. “‘Never pick a water fight with a sea creature.’”

The corner of Connor’s mouth quirks slightly. “That would be in your best interest, yes.”

\---

The days pass quickly, and Connor finds himself enjoying these little meetings of theirs. Markus is unlike anything—or anyone—he’s ever met. Granted, his frame of reference is quite small, but Markus is… different. His presence is like the sun; a fleeting confluence in Connor’s ocean-bound life, but full of light and warmth. Against the chill of the sea, it is a welcome change.

And yet, still he worries. He can only hope to continue keeping Amanda off his trail for so long, and the day she sees through his deception…

Well. Come hell or high water, Markus will be fine. Despite only knowing about the Miasma for a few days, he has a surprising knack with it, and Connor has no doubt he’ll be able to puzzle out the rest.

_But what about me?_

He puts the thought out of his mind. _**Hello, Amanda,**_ he says, and brushes past a curtain of delicate seaweed to see the mer in question, surrounded by a school of tropical fish.

 _ **Connor,**_ she greets warmly. The fish scatter as her electric field pulses, tens of hundreds of brilliantly neon fish weaving around the two of them and disappearing down a tunnel in a flurry of color. _**It’s good to see you again. Tell me, what have you found, recently?**_

_****_

_****_

_**A developing wisp of grief has been traveling near the Northumberland Strait, around four or five years in development.** _

He’d found it completely by accident, the day after his first time at the surface. Following a current from the city’s bridge had carried him nearly directly through it. _**I anticipate embodiment in another five years, assuming a regular supply of components.**_

_****_

_****_

_**A wisp of grief,**_ Amanda muses, then shakes her head with a sigh. _**Humans.**_

She picks up her shears and glides toward a swaying kelp topiary. _**And other than that?**_

_****_

_****_

_**Only unmanifested components,**_ he assures her. 

_**Good. I want you to keep an eye on this wisp.** _

He nods. _**You can count on me.**_

She snips at a few fronds, pushing the discarded ends away with a slow flap of her fins. _**And I trust that there have been no further disruptions from the surface,**_ Amanda says, pinning him with a stern look.

Some days, it seems as though she can see right through him. He meets her gaze levelly, and lies.

_**No, Amanda. There has not.** _

He flees to the surface soon after, and ignores the growing unease in his soul.

\---

“Connor,” Markus says in a deliberately calm voice. “What is that?”

He points somewhere to the left and below of where they’re floating with his free hand, the other still clasped tightly in Connor’s. They’ve gotten used to keeping physical contact during their regular excursions into the Miasma; the plane still has a tendency of ejecting Markus without Connor to smooth the way, and the simplest solution has been to just hold hands.

Connor turns.

A young wisp drifts past where Markus is pointing. It’s a much darker grey than their surroundings, and Connor can see why Markus might be alarmed. The wisp is a dark smear against the mostly homogenous light grey of the Miasma, and fairly foreboding at first glance. Its tail trails along slowly, not unlike smoke from a bonfire.

“It’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says, and swims forward, pulling Markus along. “Just a wisp.”

“A wisp?”

“You could think of them as baby merfolk, I suppose. ”

“Wait. That’s–?”

“Yes,” Connor says. “We aren’t ‘born,’ necessarily. Aetherborn start from wisps of human emotion and traits—our components, we call it. It’s suspected they form our souls, but it's quite difficult to measure a soul once it’s taken physical form.”

He closes the last few metres between them and the wisp and extends a hand.

It doesn’t react, at first, and only drifts away lethargically in a slightly askew line. But then it stops, the motion of its smoke-like body freezing impossibly, before it moves closer to the two of them.

Markus’ hand tightens around his.

“Ah,” Connor says, lips curving up into a smile as the wisp nudges its ‘head’ into his palm. “Excitement. That’s a rare one.”

Markus looks between the two of them. “Can I…?” He finally asks, lifting his other hand up slowly.

“Go ahead.” Connor pulls his hand back and watches as the wisp spins around searching for him. It pushes its way Markus’ palm as soon as he brings his hand closer, coiling around his hand like a smoky vortex.

Markus lets out a tiny gasp. “It feels… excited.”

“It _is_ Excitement.”

“Right, yeah.”

Excitement twines around Markus’ arm, then squiggles forward to corkscrew around his chest. All the while, Markus watches it with helpless wonder written across his face, his arms held up slightly. “I’m never moving again,” he whispers.

A quick laugh escapes Connor. “Here,” he says, still chuckling, and coaxes the wisp from Markus’ chest.

It’s reticent, and understandably so. Markus must feel like a beacon to it, just like he does to Connor. Humans are brimming with emotion, to the point that Connor sometimes wonders how they ever get anything done.

With a careful toss, Excitement swirls to a few metres away, twisting this way and that in confusion.

“Come on,” Connor says. “We should leave it to develop on its own.”

Reluctantly, Markus nods, then closes his eyes. After a moment, the Miasma falls away, then the cloak collapses in electric sparks across Connor’s skin.

The Miasma may not like Markus’ presence, but it definitely loves his absence.

“So... you started off as a wisp, once,” Markus finally says, once he’s climbed back aboard his ship and has cocooned himself within a colorful towel.

“Yes,” he replies. “My brother and I were once Truth.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, _what?”_ The end of his sentence shoots up in pitch, and Connor winces.

“It matters less after our embodiment,” he hastily explains. “When we attain physical form, we become more than just our components. The material world changes so much, it would be impossible to survive without being able to adapt.”

“Oh.” Markus pauses. “You know, I have a brother, too. Leo. He’s older than me, but you’d never know that from meeting us.”

“I think Niles would say the same,” he replies with a wry grin.

 _“Brothers.”_ Markus shakes his head. “What can you do, right?”

\--

He tracks Excitement down, later, following the nigh imperceptible signs of its passage through the Miasma. It’s slightly bigger now, and it latches onto Connor's arm with more purpose than it had during the day.

“I promise, I’m taking you somewhere nice,” he murmurs to it. “Try and stay put. I just need Niles off my trail for a little while longer.”

The wisp does not reply, but Connor likes to think it pulses slightly in satisfaction. Not that wisps at this age know anything but their components. He brings his arm closer to his chest, gives it a few pats to the head(?), then takes off.

Niles will just _love_ Greenland, he knows it.

\---

The next time he visits Amanda, Niles is there. He barely even looks over as Connor enters the room, and only continues his report, his arms folded primly behind his back. She isn’t even facing him. Her tail swings gently from side to side as she trims a patch of overgrown seagrass, not even looking towards his overly formal posture.

 _ **A wisp of excitement has recently formed in the Greenland Sea,**_ he says, and Connor resists the urge to smirk. _**Its most likely source is the Scoresby Sound.**_

_****_

_****_

_**Excitement?**_ Her snipping pauses for a second, before resuming. _**How rare.**_

The white blotches of Niles’ tail glide over the black, slow and calm like the clouds Connor has recently learned to enjoy. _**It**_ **is _quite unlikely. I imagine it drifted out to sea from inland. It seems quite young, though I wasn’t present for its manifestation._**

She hums. _**And what of the wisp of grief, Connor?**_

He moves forward and bumps Niles out of the way, then flexes his tail. Twenty odd years of brotherhood has taught him well, and Connor catches his brother’s retaliation in his billowing fins. He twists slightly, effectively trapping him in his hold.

Niles glares. Connor smiles back serenely.

_**It has settled in its location,**_ he tells Amanda, ignoring how Niles yanks at his tail. _**And development appears to be on sche–** _

Niles pinches him.

 _ **–dule,**_ he finishes, without missing a beat, and pinches Niles back.

This starts a quiet scuffle, one that only ends when Amanda straightens up. Reluctantly, Connor frees Niles from his tail as she turns.

Her face is blank, and his stomach turns to stone. She looks at Niles, then at Connor, her eyes directly meeting his and resting there. _She_ knows _somehow,_ part of his mind screams, and his control over his tail nearly frays. He clenches his fist in his fins as she glides forward.

 _ **I remember when I first found you two,**_ she says softly.

...That’s not what he was expecting.

_**You both had only just reached embodiment, and you were so small and fragile...** _

She puts her hands on their shoulders, and the two of them share equal looks of slightly embarrassed discomfort.

 _ **But look at you now,**_ she says, now smiling proudly. _**My boys. So grown up, and so, so brave.**_

His heart sinks even as he warms from the praise, and it takes everything in him to keep an impassive face and prevent his tail from changing. It feels like a mask, a ruse, seeing her affection while learning of her untruths, all of it just to keep the two of them wary of the surface. He can feel the prickle of her lies against his skin, against his _soul,_ and it grates all the more that Amanda could even think to lie to her son, let alone a being of truth.

It’s strange. The more he learns of the surface, the less he seems to understand Amanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it turns out, procrastination is also an _incredibly_ powerful motivator—for all the wrong things. but that means you all get a chapter! (and i get lots of coffee...)
> 
> as always, let me know what you thought!! i always love hearing from y'all, and would _especially_ love to hear what you all think of all these weird mermaid facts connor's dropping! :3c
> 
> you can also talk to me [here](http://laminatedroses.tumblr.com) on my tumblr, or maybe come say hi on the New Era discord server [here!](https://discord.gg/SmSUDpg!%20rel=)


	5. like ships upon a winding river

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And yet somehow  
> We found each other  
> Like strangers  
> You and I. -The Blasting Company, “Like Ships”

Given the Jericho chatroom and server, it honestly surprises Markus that it’s taken them this long to notice his relative radio silence during the day. Of course, North has a… particular way of expressing her concern.

 **[2:27pm] south:** hey peebrain  
**[2:27pm] south:** you forget about us or smth??

 _This is the way the world ends,_ Markus laments to himself. _Not with a bang, but with a Discord notification bloop._

He glances up from his phone at Connor’s guileless face, then to where he’s ominously cocking a water gun. “Don’t,” he warns.

Connor blinks at him innocently. “What?”

With a stern look, he points between his eyes and Connor in a clear warning, then peers back at his phone.

 **[2:29pm] karcus:** Who are you?  
**[2:30pm] south:** ha ha real funny  
**[2:31pm] south:** so wyd

Getting shot in the face with a jet of water, apparently. He sends Connor a dark glare, to which his only reply is an innocent non-expression.

 **[2:33pm] karcus:** Just chillin  
**[2:34pm] south:** u’ve been quiet recently  
**[2:34pm] south:** everything alright?  
**[2:35pm] karcus:** Fine and dandy, North  
**[2:35pm] south:** nerd  
**[2:35pm] south:** but seriously, are you okay?  
**[2:36pm] karcus:** Seriously. I’ve just been busy  
**[2:36pm] south:** ooouhh with whaaat  
**[2:37pm] karcus:** Wouldn’t you like to know.  
**[2:38pm] south:** mysterious! i hate it!  
**[2:38pm] karcus:** Haha

“Markus,” says Connor plaintively, before another jet of water shoots in his direction. “What are you doing?”

“My friend’s texting me,” he replies, waving his phone as an explanation.

Connor’s head tilts to the side before he paddles over to the end of the ship. “Friend?”

“Yeah, her name’s North.” The thought suddenly occurs to him, and Markus could kick himself for not thinking of it before. “Wait, do you have friends?” And then immediately cringes at his phrasing. “Sorry, that’s–I mean, are there other merfolk where you’re from?”

“No, only my brother and my–and Amanda.” He folds his arms beneath him as he perches against the end of the ship. “It’s just been us, for as long as I can remember.”

_That’s…_

Without even thinking, Markus speaks. “Do you want to say hi to North?”

“I…” He shuffles a bit, golden fins rippling with the movement as his gaze flickers to the phone and back. “I’ve never spoken to another human before,” he admits quietly.

Markus can do basic math, sometimes. Unless there are more magical creatures, he might be the _third person_ Connor’s ever spoken to in his _life._ And quite frankly, he doesn’t know how to process this information.

So instead, he shoves his phone forwards. “North’s a very good human, I promise.”

Connor takes it hesitantly, and flounders for a good few seconds before punching in a few letters and passing the phone back.

The message sits unsent in the text box, so Markus sends it for him.

 **[2:45pm] karcus:** Hello. My name is connor.

The response is almost immediate.

 **[2:45pm] south:** markus what  
**[2:45pm] south:** you have friends _other_ than us???????  
**[2:46pm] south:** doubt.jpg  
**[2:47pm] karcus:** You guys are so mean to me all the time  
**[2:47pm] south:** it’s bc you’re so easy to bully  
**[2:48pm] south:** ok but seriously are you kidding or  
**[2:48pm] karcus:** No!!!!

He heaves a heavy sigh, then turns to Connor. “She doesn’t believe that you’re real,” he says. “I can’t guarantee she’ll be nice if she thinks you’re just me joking around.”

“Then photocopy me,” he replies.

Markus blinks. “...You mean take a photo... right?” 

“Yes,” he huffs.

“But... you’re not wearing a shirt.”

“Are you volunteering yours?”

He takes a moment to think of what North would say if he sent her a picture of an unknown stranger clearly swimming—haha—in Markus’ own shirt.

“...Alright, sure. Shirtless it is.”

 **[2:55pm] karcus:** _attached_image31324831752.jpg_  
**[2:56pm] south:** ……  
**[2:57pm] south:** _markus this boy is not wearing a shirt_  
**[2:57pm] karcus:** Don’t worry, I’ve noticed.  
**[2:58pm] south:** ……………………….  
**[2:58pm] south:** …………….ohhhh my god  
**[2:58pm] south:** you fucking _**USELESS HOMO**_  
**[2:58pm] south:** he’s totally out of your league  
**[2:58pm] south:** but go get ‘im anyways, tiger  
**[2:59pm] karcus:** HE DOESN’T KNOW, AND HE DOESN’T NEED TO KNOW, PLEASE SHUT UP  
**[2:59pm] south:** oh honey  
**[2:59pm] south:** alright i’ll bite  
**[3:00pm] south:** wyd with him  
**[3:00pm] south:** if not to hit that

Markus wants to die. Markus is ready to drown again. The ocean looks more and more tempting by the second, and it’s only Connor’s earnest brown eyes that keep him from yeeting himself. And all this just for him experience the idea of ‘friendship.’

In hindsight, maybe North wasn’t the best conversational partner to choose…

Ah, well. What is it the cool kids say? _Yolo._

 **[3:01pm] karcus:** I’m teaching him how humans work  
**[3:01pm] south:** oh, worm  
**[3:01pm] south:** no actually though  
**[3:02pm] south:** he’s cute  
**[3:02pm] south:** wyd with him  
**[3:03pm] karkus:** Lessons, seriously  
**[3:03pm] south:** is it swimming lessons

Markus nearly chokes to death at the idea. Connor looks faintly alarmed, which for him means air raid sirens are now going off in his head.

 **[3:04pm] karcus:** NORTH  
**[3:05pm] south:** afraid i’ll bust u adn ur nonexistent swimming skills, mr. failed swim kids 4?  
**[3:04pm] karcus: _NORTH_**  
**[3:04pm] karcus:** I’m putting Connor on the phone.  
**[3:05pm] karcus:** _Play nice._  
**[3:06pm] south:** you wound me  
**[3:06pm] south:** i am _nothing_ but nice

That’s probably about the best he’s going to get. Markus passes his phone back and tries not to feel guilty about tossing Connor to the sharks.

“Please try not to set the world on fire with her,” he does add, though, and tries not to laugh at Connor’s affronted expression.

\---

Within weeks of meeting Connor, Markus has cemented himself as the Worst Little Brother on this side of the planet, and possibly the other side, and maybe the whole goddamn universe, too. He’s made it personal life goal to make sure Leo loses everything: his keys, his wallet, his phone...

Quietly, he cackles to himself as he sneaks past Leo’s sleeping form and picks up the vape on his desk, then casts it into the Miasma without a second thought. The door shuts quietly behind him and he tries to contain his glee as he tiptoes away from the crime scene.

 _That should stop him for… maybe two days,_ Markus thinks to himself, and plucks the yacht keys out from a completely separate plane of existence.

Two weeks ago, the thought of casually fiddling with the fabric of reality probably would’ve sent him spiraling into a breakdown on the nature of the universe he’d thought he’d known, and what was slowly being revealed to him, one open curtain at a time. He’s much more chill now. He only had a breakdown the other day because he wondered whether aliens had the Miasma, too. Then he’d hummed the X-Files theme to himself and laughed himself out of the crisis, much to Connor's confusion and slight consternation.

Explaining that one took a little while.

It’s become something of a daily thing for Markus to sail out and meet Connor. He has no doubt Leo thinks he’s insane, and Carl… well, he’d winked at Markus the last time he saw him and wished him good luck, so Markus figured he was in the clear there. Good thing, that, because he isn’t sure when the last time he spent this much time in the water was, since spending his preteen summers at local sailing camps.

Markus doesn’t even _like_ the ocean all that much. He’s fallen off too many ships to. But for Connor, he can make an exception.

\--

Connor’s already there when Markus sails up, draped half over the rocks, half in the ocean. His back is turned, but Markus can see his tail swinging to an unheard beat. It’s only when Markus cuts the engines that the beat becomes clear, as a soulful, haunting voice echoes across the waves in a wordless tune.

He’s struck dumb. For a good few minutes, all Markus can do is stand and listen, barely breathing.

If there was ever a moment he forgot that Connor was a mythical creature, all of that is _very quickly_ being wiped from his mind. He suddenly understands the legends of sirens of old, of the beings that drew sailors to their grave with only their voices. There’s a pull, somewhere deep within his soul, that draws him slowly but inexorably to Connor.

When the singing stops, Markus finally breathes in, slow and deep, trying not to visibly reel.

“Oh,” Connor says. “Hello, Markus.”

To quote the famed English poet, Shakespeare, _“asdkjfhsdjfh.”_

...He probably didn’t say that, but that’s certainly what Markus is feeling right now.

“Hi,” he replies, slightly faintly. “What… what are you doing?”

Connor twists around fully, now, and the sun glints off something in his hands. It’s a seashell, Markus notes, as light iridesces off its slightly uneven surface.

The shell clacks lightly against the stone as Connor puts it down, and says, “Waiting for you, of course.” He slides into the ocean with only a small ripple and makes his way over to the end of the ship, an intent look on his face.

From ethereal creature of the sea straight to earnest puppy, it’s a bamboozling transition that Markus has, oddly enough, gotten quite used to.

“Well, wait no more. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

Before Markus can even move to offer any assistance, Connor’s already reached over the edge and hoisted himself onto the ship, arms flexing in a way that belies their true strength. Water droplets cling to the lines of his muscles as they tense, and all Markus can do is stand there and try not to stare.

He stares. _Failed step one._

Completely at odds with the ease in which he slides through the ocean waves, Connor flops to the floor not unlike a large fish. His tail swats the side of the ship with a wet smack as he claws his way upright, twisting in _very_ much inhuman ways just to sit up. His normally lacy and graceful fins fold beneath his body, all ruffled and crumpled, like Markus took a wad of wet paper and slapped it to the ground.

“I–” Watching the merman flop around like—well, like a fish out of water, involuntarily makes the sides of his mouth quirk upwards, and he desperately tries to stifle his laughter. “Should you be out of the water?” He asks, instead.

Connor looks up at him and huffs an exasperated sigh. Markus watches with no small fascination as the gills running up his sides open and flutter with the breath. It’s a swift movement, but he catches a quick glimpse of delicate, deep blue filaments— _cobalt or phthalo, maybe?_ —vibrantly contrasting Connor’s current scale color. _If I mixed lemon yellow and cadmium yellow–_

“I’m not actually a fish, Markus,” Connor says, interrupting his runaway painter brain. “I’m adapted to both land and sea.”

His grip slips, then, and he slowly slides back to the ground with a sad squeak of scales on vinyl.

“Right…” Markus says, not even bothering to hide the smile in his voice. “I can see that.”

He huffs. “I’m unused to the effects of gravity on land.”

“You know what gravity is?”

Connor just gives him a Look, and Markus laughs. “Why don’t I give you a hand?”

He holds out his arm, lets Connor steady himself against it before he puts the other around his back. His right goes approximately where his knees would be—if he had knees—with the rest of his tail still partially drooping off the ship.

Much to Markus’ surprise, Connor’s upper half is warm, considering the current temperature of the ocean, while his scales are smooth and glossy from the water. His tail is cooler than the rest of him, but it’s not at all like the dead fish Markus has handled before, thank _god._ For one, there’s no slime.

Bracing himself, Markus picks him up.

And that’s when he realizes his mistake.

He tries not to let out any strained noises as Connor’s full weight presses into his chest and down into his arms, even as he feels heat rise in his cheeks at their close contact. _Oh shit, ABORT!!_ One part of him screams, while the larger, more rational half bellows, _DO_ NOT _DROP HIM._

Markus drops him. _Into_ the bench, thank god, and he coils his tail around its legs. His fins go absolutely _everywhere,_ which is incredibly endearing, though it makes navigating around the ship a little more difficult. He tiptoes around the edge of the ship, careful to avoid stepping on any of Connor’s pooled fins, and quickly retrieves his laptop.

“I think you’ll like this,” Markus says, and hits play.

It was a toss up between this and _The Little Mermaid,_ but in the end, Markus thought he could maybe try and be subtle for once and _not_ show his mermaid crush the mermaid romance movie.

Connor perks up as the opening of _Moana_ flashes across the screen. “What are those?”

“They’re fireworks,” Markus tells him. “Decorative explosives, I guess.”

“What’s an explosive?”

“Uhh...”

Connor’s questions peter out as the movie progresses, but not without some true mind-bogglers. How _did_ one explain what flowers were to a being who had, apparently, never seen one? Markus makes a quick mental note to pick up some flowers for the next time—and tries not to think about the significance behind giving Connor flowers.

_No sirree. No homo here. Absolutely zero homo on main._

Markus sighs and tries to ignore the pride flag fluttering pointedly at him from the end of the ship.

\--

By the time Lin-Manuel Miranda’s voice comes in for one final refrain, the tip of Connor’s tail is tapping along against the floor—and the edge of his fin brushes against Markus’ leg with every beat.

As with most of the things that fluster him, Markus endeavours to ignore it.

“So? What did you think? Favourite moment?”

Of all the things he could’ve expected—significantly increased since the last time Connor blew his mind out of the water—he doesn’t expect Connor to turn to him, utterly expressionless, and howl in Jemaine Clement’s voice, “I’d rather be _SHINY!”_

Markus lets out of stream of gibberish words before sputtering, “What was _that?”_

“Oh,” he replies in an utterly innocent tone that Markus doesn’t believe for one second. “I thought you knew. I can mimic sounds.”

 _Holy shit._ “Mimic the chicken,” Markus demands.

He obliges. It’s almost completely unfathomable to Markus’ mind, as Connor opens his mouth and a _whole-ass chicken sound_ makes its way out. He can almost _hear_ his own brain shatter to pieces, and Markus takes a moment to gather himself.

“Well,” he says, finally. “I’m taking that as a resounding ‘yes’ for human movies.”

“Yes. I liked it.”

Connor’s voice is quiet, in comparison to his previously enthusiastic chicken noises. His eyes stray past the screen, focuses on some unseen point at the edge of the horizon. _“‘It calls me,’”_ he sings, so quietly that Markus barely hears him—so quietly, he probably wasn’t even meant to hear him at all. There’s an edge of... something, in his eyes. Something wistful, almost... sad.

“I liked it,” Connor says again, and the next time he looks over at Markus, any trace of emotion has been wiped clean away, his face as peaceable as usual. “Does this... Gisney make more of these movies?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Markus babbles, trying to ignore the twisting ache in his heart, and clicks over to _Tangled._ “Almost a hundred years of movies. We won’t be running out any time soon, don’t worry.”

The expected flurry of questions and comments comes near the beginning: _Can human hair grow that long?_ No, probably not. _Magic doesn’t work like that._ Okay, how does it work? _What is that green thing?_ It’s a chameleon. _A what?_ A lizard-thing that changes colors—kinda like you, actually. _What's a lizard?_ It's a, uh...

And as with _Moana,_ they start to peter out as Connor clearly gets invested, judging by his attentive gaze, and how his shimmering blue tail bops along to Rapunzel’s song. It slows by the end, and by the time Mother Gothel snuffs the lights, his tail has turned a burnished gold.

“Connor?” He asks, once the credits roll, and nudges him with his elbow. “Everything okay?”

“I’m okay,” he replies, eyes distant. “I’m…”

Markus straightens as his tail flickers red, and immediately slides his laptop to the floor. Turning to face Connor, he catches as his tail settles back on its original gold hue from the corner of his eye. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

Connor’s silent for a moment. Then: “Are floating lights so different from stars?” He asks. “Aren’t they all floating lights?”

“Uhh… technically, yes. Floating lanterns are an Earth thing—they’re candles inside a paper covering, not incredibly hot plasma.” He struggles for the appropriate words for a second—he doesn't want to say the wrong thing, especially when there’s clearly something on Connor’s mind. Eventually, he asks carefully, “Have you seen them, before?”

“...Amanda uses floating lights to keep the Garden lit. But…” He hesitates, fidgeting with the ruffly end of his fins. “I’ve never seen stars before.”

Markus tries very hard not to think about what it must mean, that Connor’s lived this long without seeing the stars. What it must mean, that he’s lived this long only knowing two people. He thinks of Rapunzel, locked away safely in her lonely tower, spending every day staring out at the strange and wondrous land forbidden to her.

“Come stargazing with me,” he finds himself saying.

“What?” Connor’s gaze finally lifts from his hands, meeting Markus’ briefly before skating away.

“Only if you want, of course,” Markus backpedals. “I just thought maybe–”

“Yes!” He says, then blinks. His tail shimmers to a soft blue. “Yes,” he repeats, less abruptly this time. “I would like that.”

“O–okay, cool,” he babbles, the sudden weight of his impulse actions crashing into him with all the force of a world-ending asteroid. “Awesome. I’ll bring my telescope. How does tonight sound?

There’s a brief pause as Connor visibly deliberates, which does absolutely _nothing_ to quell the nerves brewing in Markus’ chest, before he finally replies, “Tonight sounds acceptable.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as his mouth quirks at the edges into what could almost be a _hint_ of a smile.

Markus has no idea what his face is doing anymore. Hopefully good things. “I’ll meet you here, like usual,” he squeaks out.

Connor nods, and braces himself against the back railing as he uncoils his tail from the chair leg. Then he pauses.

“...Thank you,” he says, and dives backwards off the ship.

 _His abs are very nice,_ says Markus’ awful gremlin brain.

 _Please shut up,_ begs Markus’ long-suffering rational brain.

Slowly, he melts down into the bench until he’s stretched fully along it, staring blankly into the bright blue sky. He lets out a long sigh, putting his hands to his head.

“Oh god,” he breathes. “I need to find the telescope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone's wondering what connor's singing as markus sails up, [this](https://kholat.bandcamp.com/track/the-beginning-feat-penelopa-willmann-szynalik) is what i was picturing. _enjoy~~_ :3c
> 
> come talk to me on my tumblr [here,](http://laminatedroses.tumblr.com) or maybe come join the motley crew of talented artists and writers on the New Era discord server [here!](https://discord.gg/SmSUDpg!%20rel=)


	6. where the night it is guarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh see them planets shining  
> To the south to the north  
> Headed out the west wind  
> Going to find myself a home. -First Aid Kit, “Wills of the River”

Sunset comes far sooner than Connor expects, and it takes both the judicial application of Miasmic acceleration and his own fins to get him to the bridge on time. He barely notices the delicate rays of waning sunlight shining through the upper surface before he bursts through, sending up a thick curtain of water.

Hank splutters and pushes his wet hair from his eyes with one hand, the other clutching his chest. “Jesus– _fuck!_ Connor! The hell was that for, huh?

“I have a question,” he says patiently, and barely flinches at the water Hank kicks back at him.

He growls lowly. “Warn a guy next time, will ya?”

Connor pauses. Then: “I’m warning you that I have a question.”

“Oh, _great.”_ Hank drawls, and kicks some more water at Connor. “Duly noted, I guess,” he continues. “Shoot.”

“I met someone,” Connor begins, and Hank’s eyebrows go up.

“Huh. Well, good for you,” he replies. “‘S’that the question?”

“No. I wanted to ask… are all humans so… fascinating?”

“You met a _human?”_ Impossibly, Hank’s eyebrows go up even further. “I’m gonna guess there’s more to this story.”

“He was drowning when I found him.”

Hank’s face twists oddly. Then he sighs, and settles his crossed arms on his knees. “Aaaaaaand this story keeps getting better and better.”

Hastily, Connor adds, “I didn’t let him drown!”

Hank scoffs, “Well, I sure as fuck hope you didn’t.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even wanna _think_ about the logistical nightmare that tryin’ to arrest you would be.”

“Bold of you to assume that I can be caught,” he replies, one eyebrow raised.

An awful choking sound escapes Hank, much to his alarm, and Connor darts forward as he doubles over. “Are you alright?” He ventures.

Hank looks up with a wild grin. “I can’t believe this,” he cackles. “Did you just _meme?”_

“Yes, I believe I just did.”

“Amazing.” He shakes his head. “So, what, you saved a human from drowning and he taught you how to meme in payment?”

“In part, yes. He’s been teaching me about the surface world.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Well hell, kid, what am I? Chopped liver?”

“...No, you’re Hank.”

“Figure of speech, Connor,” he sighs. “So let me guess. This is the human you find… ‘fascinating.’”

“Yes, though I did get the chance to speak to his friend, yesterday. She seemed interesting as well.” He crosses his arms on the rocky shoreline, staring off pensively. “Is it an inherent human magic, being endearing?”

Hank snorts. _“Fuck_ no. Humans are the constant bane of my goddamn existence—people in general, come to think of it.”

“Perhaps it would help if you sought out people whose companies you enjoyed.”

“You sayin’ I don’t have friends, fishstick?”

Connor shrugs, looking anywhere but Hank’s mock-outraged face. There’s an odd sensation bubbling in his chest, coupled with the strong desire to smile. Hank has that kind of effect, he finds. So does Markus, though his presence brings more of a brightness, not unlike that of swimming in sun-warmed waters.

“That’s what I thought. The siren’s all outta words, huh?”

Casting a glance at the setting sun, he shrugs again. “If it isn’t an inherent human trait, then…”

Hank heaves a heavy sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Under his breath, he mutters a quick, _“_ I can’t fucking believe this is my life.”

It’s likely that Connor wasn’t meant to hear that.

He lets Hank have a moment as he leans back against the water, staring up at the darkening sky. It’s remarkably clear, without a cloud in sight. This close to shore, the water only nudges at him gently, and he takes the time to shake the strain of rapid travel from his fins. Then he shakes them again, just for fun.

“Alright,” Hank finally says. “Let me get this straight. You find this human fascinating and endearing.”

“He has his moments.”

“And… good lord,” he trails off again, then sighs. “And how does that make you feel, Connor?”

“I don’t feel, Hank,” Connor explains evenly. “You know this. _‘Heartless bastard,’”_ he growls, a gruff imitation of their first meeting. “Surely you’ve griped at me about this enough times.”

There’s a very long pause as Hank studies his face, and his eyes flick briefly to Connor’s tail. Connor casts a glance down, as well, and finds it a burnished gold in the fading light.

That’s odd. He could’ve sworn it was blue just a moment ago.

“A bad tell’s what that is, kid,” Hank says. “How’ve you survived this long with that mood ring strapped to your ass?”

“I don’t have moods.”

He catches the change this time as an errant fin within his field of view goes a vibrant, mystifying scarlet.

“Oh yeah?” Hank raises an eyebrow. “Tell that to red alert over there.”

“...I don’t know why it’s doing that.”

“Well, I can tell you why. This is bothering you, Connor. I don’t gotta be a detective to know this.”

“Hank, I _can’t_ have emotions. Being bothered is simply not in my purview.”

“Pot, call the kettle red.” He leans forward suddenly, startling Connor backwards. “How d’you know you don’t have emotions, huh?”

“I am aetherborn, Lieutenant,” He stresses. “I’m not trueborn like you, nor am I human.”

“Well, that’s just a fancy way of sayin’ you have no fuckin’ idea.”

He frowns, and opens his mouth to interject, but Hank cuts him off. “Connor. How d’you know this for sure?”

_I... don’t. Not for sure._

“It’s… it’s what Amanda told us,” he says instead, helplessly.

Amanda had taught them everything, him and Niles. She had found them, newly embodied, and taught them everything she knew, from reading currents to traversing the Miasma, even music. And that had been it, for years and years, never questioning a single thing.

Except… Amanda was wrong, wasn’t she? She’d lied about human cruelty; over just the past few weeks of knowing him, Markus had proven his compassion, over and over. North, a friend of Markus’ that Connor had never even met, had a caustic personality, but not an unkind one. She’d offered him suggestions on how to interact with Markus. Even _Hank_ had loved a human, once, and Hank was… Hank.

…So who was to say Amanda hadn’t lied about this, too?

And yet Connor remembered past days, from before Hank, from _long_ before Markus, where he’d just… been. Quiet, empty, following the same repetitive motions, as even and unchanging as the Miasma itself. He simply... hadn’t felt.

But now…

It’s like accidentally swallowing sand, scraping particles digging in deep in his chest as his heart almost seems to clench.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, quietly. “It’s what we were told all our lives. And she was right—but now she’s…”

_Right? Wrong?_

...Connor has never felt more out of his depth as he has when _literally_ being out from the depths.

Hank takes one look at his face, then sighs. “You need to see the world for yourself, kid. Secondhand knowledge’s all good for scoping things out, but _you_ need to be the one to experience it.”

He lashes his tail pointedly. “Your suggestion is moot. I wouldn’t be able to see your world even if I wanted to.”

“Well, hold your fuckin’ horses, alright? I’m gettin’ to that part.”

It takes Hank a moment of searching before he pulls his phone out, then another few moments as he taps at it clumsily.

“Here’s the damn thing,” he finally grumbles, and flips the screen towards Connor. “There. Just to the west of Nuuk—wait, can you even read?”

He gives him a Look. “I can read just fine, Hank. Can you? The text seems awfully small.”

“Alright, kid, no need to get your fins in a twist. Jeez.” He circles a small region of the Labrador Sea. “There’s a guy in a cave somewhere ‘round here. If there’s anyone who can help you, it’d be him.”

“Help? What does this help entail, exactly? How?”

“Hell if I know,” Hank says.

There’s an odd sensation, like a prickling at the base of his skull that radiates up his scalp and down his spine. Hank’s words almost seem to grate at mind, and Connor knows, without a doubt, that he’s lying.

Of course, if there’s one thing he’s learned from his interactions with Hank, it’s that some things are better left alone.

...Even if he desperately wants an answer.

Stamping down on the desire to demand further question, Connor frowns. “And it’s just a cave? You have no other geographic markers?”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know it when y’see it.”

Well, then. He’s found more with less.

He glances up for a second and immediately stiffens, taken aback by how dark it’s gotten. Hastily, he pushes back from the shoreline. “I need to go now, Hank.”

“Urgent mermaid business?” He replies wryly.

“I’m meeting Markus.”

Hank snorts. “Oh, of course.”

“We’re going stargazing.”

 _“Oh.”_ He draws the word out. “Stargazing, huh? Well. Have fun.”

“I think so, yes.”

And with that, he sinks below the surface. Then—caught by some strange whim, he stretches his hand out and waves, before it, too, sinks below the surface.

The befuddled look on Hank’s face makes him reflexively take in a huge gasp of water, oddly enough, but Connor sets his confusion aside as he ducks into the Miasma and darts away.

\---

When Connor resurfaces, Markus is already there, floating calmly by the cluster of rocks. His eyes catch on a small stack of boxes poorly hidden beneath the ship’s bench, then on Markus, struggling with the disassembly of the canvas roof. Half of it hangs loosely, unattached to their corresponding metal struts, while the other half remains stretched tight.

He slides over to the end of the ship and says, “You seem preoccupied.”

Markus yelps and jumps. His head bumps against the roof and upsets the balance enough that the loose half of canvas falls and engulfs him as he staggers back. It takes him a few desperate minutes to struggle his way out of the half-collapsed structure, by which time Connor has already climbed aboard the ship and onto the bench. This time, he doesn’t struggle with it, immediately coiling his tail around the bench’s leg for balance. His face feels vaguely warm when he recalls his struggles from earlier today—and only warms further as Markus plops himself down next to Connor, out of breath and flushed, and elbows him a few times.

“You did that on purpose,” he accuses, but the smile that stretches across his face belies his tone.

“What do you mean?” He asks, innocent.

“No, don’t play coy.” Markus points an accusative finger at him. “Your tail hasn’t gone yellow, so I know you know what I’m talking about. I’d like to see _you_ try.”

“Then I will,” he says.

“Oh yeah?”

Instead of replying, Connor simply reaches out and grabs a corner of the canvas, then pushes it into the Miasma. With a quiet, anticlimactic rustle, it falls through the metal struts, and he pulls it back to the physical plane in time for it to crumple haphazardly at Markus’ feet.

He looks down. “...I could’ve done that the whole time, huh.”

“You forgot.”

“I forgot,” he admits. “In my defense, I was trying to memorize tonight’s star charts.”

Connor looks up. It isn’t fully night yet, and the sky gradiates from a pale yellow at the edge of the horizon, all the way to a deep indigo overhead. And yet, even still, a scattering of bright pinpricks dot the dusk sky, and Connor points to the orange-tinted one. “What star is that?”

Markus leans over and follows where his arm is pointing. “That’s Mars, actually,” he says.

“Ah.”

“But there,” he adds, and pushes Connor’s arm until it points to another pinprick of light. “That's a star. Polaris, the North Star. Of no relation to the North we know and love.” He pauses. “At least, I hope not. It wouldn't surprise me at all if she managed to find a way to time travel just to name a star after herself.”

“That seems accurate,” Connor says, “if implausible.”

Markus laughs. “That’s North in a nutshell, I’d say.”

From their brief but eventful conversation, Connor is inclined to believe it. “But what was it actually named for?”

“It lines up with the North Pole, so that would be where that particular name came from,” he explains. “It was used for navigating in the past—since it doesn’t seem to move as the planet turns. The entire constellation of Ursa Major, actually, since Polaris wasn’t yet a pole star.”

“Ursa Major?”

But now that Markus has mentioned it, Connor can feel the knowledge slot into place, pulled from the nebulous collective of human knowledge held within the Miasma. “Oh,” he breathes, and traces its outline. “The Little Dipper.”

“The Little–oh,” Markus cuts himself off. “How did you… Ah, a Miasma thing?”

“A Miasma thing,” Connor agrees.

“I wish I could do that on exams,” he remarks, then reaches beneath the bench. “Here, I also packed something for when it gets colder, later.”

Connor rears back as a bundle of fabric hits him in the face, soft draping corners spreading over his head and cascading down his front. It’s very fuzzy. He rearranges it so that it wraps around his shoulders.

“I brought a bunch,” Markus says, as he nudges the canvas roof out of the way, arms full of blankets, “just in case the temperature drops more than expected.” He spreads a few out over the emptied floor, smoothing out the edges before sitting down.

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me, this is the best way to stargaze.” He folds up yet another blanket and places it behind him, then lies down. He points upwards. “Neck strain is no joke.”

Well, he wouldn’t exactly know, now would he?

Connor slides forward, delicately uncoils his tail, then flops down onto the pile of blankets. There’s a quiet snicker that he pointedly ignores, and instead stretches out to his full length, the end of his slightly rumpled tail drooping off the end of the ship and dipping into the water.

Beside him, Markus’ giggles peter off, and he hums something quickly before commenting, “This is cozy.”

When Connor turns his head, Markus is much closer than he expects. Connor can almost count his freckles, scattered not unlike the constellations overhead, and equally as numerous.

An odd part of him wants to reach out and touch them.

His gaze drifts to Markus’ eyes, next, their peculiar colors so light there seems almost to be a supernatural glint within them, glowing amidst the waning light. Crinkled at the edges with a soft smile, Connor feels his breath catches in his throat.

And then Markus blinks, and the spell is lost.

He clears his throat. “Yes. It is.”

There’s a pause, before Markus says, “Well, I gue–”

A bright flash streaks across the night sky, so quick Connor nearly misses it. But Markus clearly does not, as he points and hisses, “A shooting star! Quick, make a wish.”

“What was that?”

“That’s a meteor. Basically, a big rock from space burning up as it hits our atmosphere. It’s a bit less romantic to describe it that way, however,” Markus says, then makes a face. “Just a superstition, though,” he continues, “making wishes on stars. There’s really no science to it.”

“Oh.”

If you asked him a year ago, Connor wouldn’t have had anything to wish for. Not that you could ask him in the first place, considering the amount of time he used to spend in the Miasma.

But now?

“I wish…”

“Wait!” Markus cuts in. “Second human superstition: you can’t say the wish out loud. It won’t ever come true, if you do.”

The words die in his throat. “Human superstition never ceases to baffle me,” Connor tells him.

“Mood,” he replies. “On the upside, my wish came true: it’s now fully nighttime. Go on, look up!”

Connor does so. His eyes catch on Polaris, on Ursa Minor, before moving to the rest of the night sky. It’s almost like an explosion, a smattering of stars and lights and colors that cascade across the black of the night.

It’s beyond anything words can describe, let alone his. For a few seconds, he simply stares in awed silence, watching as the few wisps of clouds above drift by, barely present enough to obscure anything.

_I wish I could see this forever._

\--

Markus has a surprisingly encyclopedic knowledge about constellations, despite never checking his phone once. Wherever Connor points, whatever he points to, he has some sort of answer.

It’s the mythology of the stars that catches Connor’s attention the most. There are more stories than he could have ever dreamed of, all of them intriguing and unique, all so passionately _human._

By the eighth story Markus tells, Connor is compelled to ask, “Do you have a favourite constellation?”

He hums, and folds his arms behind his head. “It might just be the musician in me that’s biasing my choice, but…” He points to another star, then traces its constellation. “There. Lyra, Orpheus’ lyre. That’s my favourite.”

“Orpheus and Eurydice,” Connor says slowly. “A musician and his beloved.”

“Yeah. He loved her so much that when she died, he sang his way into the forbidden Underworld, and sought an audience with the gods themselves, despite the risk. And with that lyre, he charmed the hearts of Hades and Persephone, and brought her back to the surface—under a condition, of course. That while he was still in the Underworld, he couldn’t look back.”

“But he did, didn’t he.”

Markus doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “It’s not a happy ending,” he finishes quietly. “But that’s life, sometimes.”

Life and death. A summary cycle of existence, one which Connor might never experience the full extent of. He will vastly outlive Markus one day—outlive Hank, everyone he might ever come to know, barring his brother and Amanda.

It’s a disquieting thought. For a moment, he can almost understand Amanda, with her centuries of existence, why she might choose to bar him from the surface.

 **_I want nothing more than to see you both safe and sound_** _,_ echoes in his head.

_Who has she lost?_

_Who hasn’t she lost?_ is really the question.

He pushes away the thought, and instead asks, “Do they ever see each other again?”

“It really depends on the myth you follow. But according to one, after he gets… uh, well, brutally torn to pieces, they’re reunited in the Underworld.”

That’s... not quite what Connor was expecting, but then again, humans seem to have a strange fascination with the macabre.

Markus sighs, then straightens up with a smile. “But enough about sad, star-crossed lovers. I have another surprise.”

He reaches for another unopened box—that Connor had expected to hold more blankets, honestly—and slides it out from under the bench. “I couldn’t get paper lanterns on such short notice, so I got the next best thing...”

He pulls a short tube out from the box. _ELECTRIC RAINBOW,_ its side declares.

“Fireworks!” Markus declares.

“‘Decorative explosives,’” Connor quotes.

“Is that what my voice sounds like…?” Markus mutters to himself, and makes a face.

“I like your voice,” Connor offers.

An odd noise escapes Markus, before he says in a higher pitch, “Thanks!”

From yet another box, Markus pulls out a large bucket, filled to the brim with dirt and pockmarked with small holes. It’s into one of these holes that _ELECTRIC RAINBOW_ goes, before he pulls another long stick from one of the boxes and prods the trailing line with one end.

Immediately, smoke begins to pour out of from the line, as Markus scrambles back, stick still in hand—and apparently on fire.

He wrinkles his nose. “Is it supposed to–”

With an ear-splitting crack, a bolt of light whistles its way up into the sky. Connor jumps, nearly toppling off the bench. _“What–”_

A smattering of quiet pops paints the night sky with a starburst of vibrant colors, so bright they leave equally colorful afterimages against Connor’s eyes. Before he can even blink them away, another firework takes its place, trailing a long plume of smoke as it bursts into a thousand brilliant sparks.

It’s nothing like anything he’s ever seen before. Nothing like the beautiful jewel tones of coral reefs, nor the clear blue-green of tropical waters. _Nothing_ like the cultivated grace of Amanda’s Garden. It’s organized chaos, the metallic taste of the smoke in the air and the irregular smattering of tiny, dazzling lights…

…and Markus, smiling, eyes shining, reflecting the kaleidoscopic display above.

Connor isn’t naive. For all the underwater wonders he’s seen, there must be tens of hundreds of overworld ones he will never even know of, let alone see them. Perhaps Amanda was right to keep them from the surface; now, with his first taste of the world beyond, he finds himself wanting, even _needing_ to know more. He twists to look back at the winking city lights in the distance.

Had he never met Markus–

–he would have drowned. No amount of world-changing paradigm shifts could convince him to regret that decision.

And yet still, it calls to him, even knowing there existed no possible way for him to reach the knowledge he longed for.

…Or was there?

“Connor–” Markus starts, then falls silent as Connor turns. His eyebrows furrow, and Connor can almost hear the turmoil in his brain as he struggles for words, mouth slightly open. “Let me set off another firework,” he finally says, and kneels down.

It whistles off with another crackle-bang, colors exploding across the sky once again, and Connor watches, waits until the night is quiet but for the soft lapping of waves at the ship’s hull, then says, “Markus?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” _For showing me the truth._

\---

Hank was right. Connor spots the cave the instant Greenland’s fjords come into view.

Well, perhaps ‘spot’ wasn't the best word. He senses the magic, like fizzling bubbles against his skin, brisk even against the chilly arctic waters, and buzzing with all the energy of an electric eel.

It’s familiar, in an odd way; the same crackle of Markus’ careful attempts to traverse the Miasma, of Hank’s simple illusions, and something else, something Connor can’t quite place, but _knows,_ somewhere deep and instinctual.

And then he sees the water.

It’s _red._

The nearer he gets to the rocky shoreline, the clearer it becomes. A violent red, almost ethereal as it bleeds into the ocean, blending without blurring amidst the waves before disappearing, as abruptly as it appears. All completely magical. A shiver goes up his spine, the sense of foreboding in the back of his mind screaming instinctively at this imposing show of magical power.

But Connor’s mind is set. He surfaces, takes a deep, unnecessary breath, and pushes onwards.

He projects a careful, **_Hello?_ ** as he slips through the entrance. At the epicentre, the magic is so thick he can feel it twisting in his gills, seething and simmering like froth on the open ocean. **_Is anyone–_ **

The words die away as his eyes catch a flicker of movement, and he tenses, training his gaze on the shadow unpeeling from the back wall of the cave. All around him, the floating orbs of the same unsettling red begin to blink out, one by one, until he can barely see past the entrance.

He nearly jolts out of his skin as something— _someone?_ —almost seems to materialize before him, all trailing ink-smoke limbs, his crystal blue eyes gleaming wickedly as he says, **_Ah, Amanda's little hunter. Come to visit me at last._ **

His entire body goes cold. **_How do you know who I am?_ ** He demands.

The man smiles, the barest hint of needle-sharp teeth peeking through as his eyes bore into Connor's. **_I know a lot about you, Connor,_ ** he says, and sweeps forward.

This close, Connor can see the man beyond just flickers between shadows. He’s pale, the long lines of his limbs only broken by silver and gold metal. As though a dark smear against the water, his black-and-white striped limbs move almost as if they have a mind of their own; like snakes, they coil around Connor's arms, tail, releasing only when he twists to look at them.

And then, as abrupt as his entrance, he pulls back. **_Now, what can I do for you?_ ** He says smoothly.

**_I… I was told to come here._ **

**_Oh, of that I’ve no doubt. Did you think you could enter my domain without my permission?_ **

Slowly, the man begins to circle around, tail just barely brushing against Connor’s. **_Now, the real question is… why are you here?_ **

Connor swallows, then straightens up. **_I need to visit the surface world._ **

**_Wandering far from home, I see._ ** He raises an eyebrow. **_And what does Amanda have to say about your little trip?_ **

**_She has nothing to do with this._ **

**_Oh?_ ** He draws out, smirk growing wider. **_Has Amanda’s hound finally slipped his leash?_ **

**_I’m not Amanda’s hound._ **

He hums, non-committal. **_No… you aren’t, are you? Not anymore._ **

In one sharp movement, he twists around and relights the floating orbs. **_So what brings you to the surface, Connor?_ ** He asks, beckoning him inwards. **_I can’t imagine why you’d want to. Humans are dangerous. Unpredictable._ **

**_I think there’s more to them than we understand,_ ** Connor replies carefully.

**_Ahh, yes. And you want to understand, don’t you?_ **

**_Yes._ **

**_I’ve had many like you come to me, you know. The lost, the grieving, the curious, all in search of something…_ ** **more.** **_I can help you,_ ** he says, then adds, **_but not without something in return._ **

**_Then name your price,_ ** Connor says.  


**_Well, that depends._ ** He leans forward, eyes glittering. **_What are you willing to trade?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3c


	7. carry me home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lead me away to the city today  
> The shaking of all my fears.  
> Cast away! -The Family Crest, “Make Me A Boat”

There’s a small lock of hair that always tumbles waywardly over Connor’s forehead, and Markus reaches out and gently pushes it back into place. The water that clings to his hand keeps it in place for a split-second. But then it slips away.

He laughs. “Not one for behaving, huh?”

Connor’s lips curve up into a sly smile, and he leans forward. “No,” he breathes, his words warm across Markus’ neck. “But that’s true for most of me.”

“O–oh,” Markus stutters. “That’s…”

Something screeches, somewhere off to his left, and instinctively he tries to look. But Connor catches his chin in his hands and holds his head in place.

“Markus,” he singsongs, the barest hint of the otherworldly song from days ago creeping into his voice. “Look at me, pet.”

He hears the alarm again—and it _is_ his alarm—and the dream begins to fade. The edges of his vision start to blur away as the alarm grows in clarity, but his eyes lock onto Connor’s. They’re brown, so deep Markus can almost see himself reflected in them.

“Markus…” Dream Connor whispers, sending goosebumps up his spine.

And in that liminal space between dreaming and waking, he hears a familiar voice.

 _“Go on and kiss the girl,”_ croons the red crab that swims leisurely into view.

“That’s easy for you to say,” he tells him. “I’m pretty sure he has sharp teeth. Have you ever tried to kiss someone with sharp teeth?"

Dream Sebastian says nothing, and only winks in response, then swims away just as unhurriedly as his entrance, leaving Markus to thrash awake to the shrill screech of his alarm.

His heart pounds loudly in his chest, widened eyes staring vaguely at the ceiling. “Sebastian gave me romancing advice,” he says, half-disbelieving. “Am I really _that_ hopeless?”

Then he blinks. Shifts slightly. Looks down.

He sighs and buries his face in his hands. “What a _great_ start to my day.”

It’s all downhill from there. Markus spills his box of cereal, then his bag of milk, and then, by some cruel grace of the gods, his bowl of milk and cereal. Leo just laughs as Markus swears.

From over his newspaper, Carl peers over. “No use crying over spilt milk,” he says with a grin.

Markus and Leo both groan loudly.

“I’m leaving,” he announces, just as Leo grumbles, “I’m disowning myself.”

Carl’s laugh follows him all the way down the hall and up the stairs—at least, until Markus trips and drops the bowl. The sound of it shattering echoes in his ears— _not unlike my shattered hopes and dreams,_ he thinks to himself.

The chorus of laughter from below doesn’t make him feel much better.

It’s only until he’s on the ship on his way to their meet-up spot, that his day seems to brighten. The strong sea breeze in his face, the warm sun against his skin—all of it serves to soothe the sting of his rather disastrous morning.

 _And don’t forget the prospect of seeing Connor,_ part of his brain reminds him.

That too. Markus isn’t stupid enough to contest that thought, considering that last night–

 _–NOPE,_ he thinks loudly, _MOVING ON FROM THAT THOUGHT._

\--

“Markus!” Connor calls as Markus draws near the rocks, his voice somehow cutting over the loud roar of the ship’s engine. Then he waves an arm over his head, as if Markus could’ve missed his electric blue tail against the grey stone.

 _He looks… happy,_ Markus notes, then calls back, “Connor!”

His voice doesn’t carry as well, but Connor perks up nonetheless, smiling widely.

“Good afternoon, Markus!” He says chipperly. Then he slides off the rocks, cutting a quick and elegant line through the water to the end of the ship.

Markus barely has time to cut the engine and drop the anchor before Connor’s flung himself aboard, dripping wet and doing absolutely nothing to quell the traitorous thoughts percolating through his stupid brain.

“Hi,” he says, slightly taken aback. “You seem cheery today.”

“I have something to show you,” Connor replies, and his smile widens.

“Oh?”

Markus has a split-second to take in the item Connor’s holding—some sort of shiny, intricately carved… thing—before Connor slides it onto his arm.

The next few seconds of Markus’ life get very confusing. Not that they weren’t confusing before, but. Well. His brain has never simply _ceased_ to comprehend something. Not even when he was swim-floating in an alternate dimension.

It’s like Connor’s lower half gets eaten by six simultaneous Microsoft PowerPoint slide transitions, if slide transitions could be fucked up by Zalgo text. One moment there’s a tail, the next, ???, and then....

…ah.

Well. If the slide transitions made his brain cease comprehension, _this_ makes his brain cease operation.

Folded neatly across the white floor of the boat, Connor sits, legs— _legs???—_ tucked neatly to one side.

Oh, and he’s _very_ naked.

“Well,” Markus says, voice located roughly somewhere in the upper stratosphere. “This is… unexpected.”

From the corner of his eyes, he catches the tiny frown that flits across Connor’s face. “I can change back…?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says quickly, and tries very hard to look anywhere, _anywhere_ else. The sky is very beautiful today. Lovely clouds. Kind of bright, though, his watering eyes point out. “I–I’m going to grab you something to wear. Then we can go from there.”

\--

Connor looks… unfairly good in the god-awful, rainbow Hawaiian shirt North bought him as a joke—the only thing he could find on this ship, along with a pair of…

Markus sighs, his fifth in just as many minutes.

...a pair of booty shorts North _also_ got him as a joke. A hint of white text flashes incriminatingly at him from Connor’s–

–nope. Not thinking about it.

And the less said about the struggle of getting Connor _into_ them, the better.

“Okay,” Markus announces, slamming the metaphorical door on his trailing thoughts, and claps his hands together. “Now that we’ve gotten you some clothes, would you like to explain _how,_ exactly, you managed to do this?”

“Magic, Markus,” he deadpans.

“I definitely saw that magic,” he replies. “It was a little hard to miss. It very nearly fried my brain. I mean, did you make it?”

“No, I spoke to a… friend. He pointed me in the right direction, and I made a deal.”

Immediately, he’s on high alert. “You made a _what?”_

Subtlety be damned, they should’ve watched _The Little Mermaid_ instead.

“You—is it _safe?”_ He demands. “Did you trade something? Who was this?”

Connor tilts his head to the side, looking slightly taken aback. “Only a favor to a witch,” he says.

_Oh boy._

“...Is something wrong?”

“No!” he blusters, voice sailing up the octaves to heaven for the second time today. “No, it’s probably nothing, I’m just… worried.”

He tries to school his face into something less dismayed. Judging by the growing furrow in Connor’s brow, however, he’s clearly not very successful.

“I just have to ask,” Markus finally says. “Did you know this witch?”

“No,” Connor replies. “I just met him.”

The dismayed look is back; Markus doesn’t need a mirror to know that much.

“That sounds,” he says slowly, trying not to betray the rapid uptick in his heartbeat, _“extremely_ suspicious. You know that, right?”

Connor sighs. “I…” His gaze flickers away as he trails off, away from Markus, down at his newfound limbs. “It’s possible that I made my decision a little hastily,” he admits. “But…”

He pauses. Then he looks back up, jaw set, and meets Markus’ eyes directly. There’s a steely edge to his gaze. “I want to see the world for myself,” he says. “I need to know the truth.”

Looking at him now, his gaze as steadfast as the ocean tides, Markus thought that if there would be one person to ever find the truth, whatever nebulous, undefinable meaning that it could bring, it would be Connor. Like a category five hurricane, inexorable and determined; like the crash of ocean waves, unending and boundless…

Like the implacable hunter, searching for one thing, and one thing only.

And woe betide those who stood in Connor’s way.

\---

“Okay, put your arms around my neck and hold on. Legs to the side.”

Connor’s knees knock against Markus’ back.

“The side, Connor.”

“I’m trying,” he replies tersely, and bumps into his back again.

This goes on for a little while. Quite frankly, it’s a miracle that Markus even manages to pick him up without significant bodily harm. Connor is all flailing limbs and gangly legs, even without the “never had legs” thing—though he supposes that doesn’t really help. He staggers a little bit, standing up, but thankfully doesn’t drop him on the way to the car.

From there, it’s smooth sailing—no pun intended. Well, maybe a little intended.

Connor takes a few minutes to marvel at the dashboard, reaching out to press the emergency light button—then turns quickly to look at Markus with questioning eyes.

“Go ahead,” he says, grinning.

One button turns to three which turns to loud country folk, as Connor finds the radio button, and Markus pulls out of the parking lot to the screaming wail of an intense fiddle duet. Connor seems mystified, frozen with one finger still hovering over the radio button.

"This is awful," he says, then turns to Markus, face full of wonder. “I love it.”

Markus throws his head back and laughs.

But the radio loses his attention soon enough, and by the time they arrive at downtown, Connor has his face pressed up against the window, gazing up at the squat red brick buildings around them **.** Traffic moves by at a crawl; when he opens his window to peek out—and tries not to laugh as Connor jumps back in surprise—he hears the familiar clip clop of hooves on pavement.

“What’s that sound?” Connor asks.

He points to the right, where the horse-drawn carriage is just turning off onto a side road, and nearly jumps at the volume of Connor’s gasp.

“That’s a horse!” he exclaims. A few seconds of quiet awe passes, before Connor points out the window. “Is that also a horse?”

Markus laughs. “No, that’s a dog.”

“Dogs! I know what dogs are.” He pauses, then beams at Markus. “I like dogs.”

In the face of that smile, Markus freezes, then stutters, “I–I like dogs, too.”

As Connor turns away, Markus looks up at the roof, eyes wide, and lets out a slow, shaky breath.

The unfortunate downside of living in a small city is that downtown ends far too soon, even with some dithering around. Markus takes a few winding turns down some side streets—then several more winding turns to desperately get back on track, caught in an endless loop of unpassable one-way streets. Not that Connor seems to notice—or, at least, if he does, he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Not until they leave, of course. He looks almost crestfallen, still draped loosely over the open window. His gaze lingers on the shrinking buildings in the rearview, and from the corner of his eye, Markus spots the inlaid gemstones of his bracelet turn from gold to red, then back to gold.

“We’ll come back later,” he promises.

Connor nods, and Markus smiles softly as the gems turn a crystalline blue.

The ride is quiet, after that. As much as Markus loves his city, he’ll be the first to admit that it’s pretty sparse, outside of the main tourist hotspots. It’s just a couple minutes’ drive from downtown to the Manfred household, so he takes the scenic route.

Briefly, he glances over to the passenger seat, then almost laughs. Connor has his entire head out the window, hair whipping wildly with the wind. His eyes are shut, and the tight lines of his expression have relaxed to something almost akin to a smile.

It’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and quite frankly, Markus doesn’t know how to handle all his feelings.

So he doesn’t, like a true millennial.

Before Connor can blink his eyes back open, Markus focuses back on the road, and desperately tries to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

\--

Connor has almost managed to conquer the stairs by the time North nearly blows Markus’ front door down.

“Markus! Open up!” He hears her shout, and his entire body freezes. “I know you’ve been having your artist funk or whatever, but I’m kicking down your door if you don’t let me in!”

“Shit!” He turns to Connor and says quickly, “Stay up here, I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t have time to check whether Connor’s following his directive, so he prays to whatever gods that exist that he doesn’t come back to find him doing anything _too_ inhuman.

“North,” he says slightly breathlessly, having dashed the whole way to the front door. “Hi. Why are you threatening to kick down my door?”

“Just making sure Leo hasn’t murdered you,” she says lightly, and pushes on past him without so much as a by your leave. “Oh, by the way, he’s wondering where his vape is. He knows you did it.”

“I would never,” he replies, the very picture of innocence.

She squints at him, and Markus tries not to squirm beneath her gaze.

“Good,” she finally says, “because I’m not telling him.”

He lets out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, which is almost immediately cut short as North marches back up to him and puts her hands on his shoulders.

“Full disclosure,” she says in a low, conspiratorial tone, “this is the best your yard’s smelled in years. That lemon shit? Ugh.” She makes a face. “Wherever you hid his vape, hide his flavors there too. Make him get, I don’t know, raspberry or something next time. Bacon. Anything but _lemons,_ god.”

He sighs. “If you really think I can stem the tide of Leo’s terrible decisions, I have news for you.”

“Oh, I know. It was worth a shot, though.”

She pats his shoulder, then turns and strides down the hall, as at-home as any other Manfred. Much to Markus’ relief, she makes a beeline for the living room, skipping the upstairs entirely in favor of tossing herself down on the couch.

Her nose wrinkles as she lands. “Did you guys buy an aquarium or something? It smells like the ocean.”

“We _do_ live by the ocean, North.”

“No…” She trails off. “More... ocean-y ocean.”

Markus shrugs, deliberately casual, and tries not to think about his illegal fish friend upstairs. “Low tide, maybe?”

As if summoned by his thoughts, there’s a loud thud from upstairs—not unlike one that would sound if a tall, Connor-sized object fell over. Markus winces.

“Markus...” North says slowly. “I thought you said no one was home.”

“I–uh, Leo’s home?"

“Leo would be camped in front of his computer, you know this.” She raises an eyebrow. “Are you hiding something?”

_Oh, fuck._

North gives him a scrutinizing look. “If you’re trying to create another avant-garde mechanical sculpture, I really hope you’re getting Josh’s help. We don’t need a repeat of last time.”

“That’s exactly it,” Markus says. “Yep. I’m making some contemporary, mechanized art, and it just fell over. Oh shit. I have to go check on it.”

And he takes off.

“Are you okay?” He asks after shutting the door behind him.

Slightly ruffled from the fall, Connor looks vaguely petulant as he perches stiffly at the edge of the chair. “I’m fine,” he says. “I… misjudged."

“You forgot you had legs again,” Markus translates, trying not to laugh.

His bracelet blinks gold as Connor grudgingly admits, “Maybe so.”

He does laugh at that. A laugh which dies an almost immediate, horrible death as he catches the quiet creak of the wooden handrail—like someone’s coming up the stairs.

“Did you just hear…?”

Connor nods.

“Of course,” he groans, and puts his face in his hands. “I–can you still access the Miasma like this?”

Connor pauses. Markus has a split-second to realize his mistake before he starts to fall through the furniture. He lunges, grabbing him by one incorporeal wrist, then locking his other arm around Connor’s waist. His momentum almost drags Markus to the floor, until he takes a hasty step forwards and twists–

It’s not until he’s frozen nose-to-nose with Connor, gazing straight into startled brown eyes, that he realizes, _Oops, I totally just dipped him._

Unbidden, Dream Sebastian invites himself into Markus’ head to croon, _“Go on and kiss the girl.”_ Like the devil on his shoulder, if devils were crabs, and also had a vested interest in making Markus look like a goddamn fool in front of the general public. That definitely seemed like a devil thing.

Connor’s mouth opens in a soft ‘o’ of surprise, eyes widening slightly. His gaze flickers down, just for a brief second, then back up again. Markus’ brain is only distantly aware that his arm is currently clipping through the desk chair—most of it is playing Muzak’s greatest hits, with a tiny section cordoned off for sad dial-up noises.

It snaps back at the creak of a hallway floorboard, and he wrenches himself upright—Connor in tow—almost dizzyingly quickly, letting him go with an awkward cough and shoulder pat.

“Stay in the Miasma,” he rambles. “Try not to fall over. Stay safe.”

Connor nods. “Got it.”

Markus nods back. “Cool. Good. I’m going to get the door.”

He does not get the door.

Not before North reaches it, that is, and she pauses in the doorway as Markus freezes in place.

“Hi! Sorry, I needed a–uh, thing.” He winces, then clarifies, “A tool. To fix the art. I’ll be right down, North, I promise. There’s no need–”

“Get away from him.”

“–to—North, what–”

But her eyes aren’t focused on him. She’s looking behind him, at…

…at _Connor._

“Who are you and what do you want with Markus?” She snarls.

“Wait. North,” he says, stepping in front of her. “How–”

She grabs him, wrenching him forward like he weighs nothing. Markus barely has a chance to react before he’s staggering sideways, tripping over the lip of the doorway with an undignified yelp.

He turns–

–and immediately reels back, eyes watering from the snapshot blur of extra dimensions and not-light around the space where North once was.

And in her place, there stands a wolf.

“Oh my _god,”_ Markus manages to choke out, before it— _she?_ Was that _North?—_ bursts forward, massive jaws snapping open to reveal dagger-sharp teeth. “Shit– _wait–”_

He lunges after the wolf before his brain can even identify how terrible of an idea that is, reaching out with a desperate hand. But he only grasps empty air as she _moves,_ jaws closing around Connor’s arm and wrenching him off balance. Her momentum carries her forward, past the desk, past Connor as he falls, claws skittering for purchase against the wood floor.

 _Markus’_ momentum, on the other hand, puts him right behind Connor as he topples. His arms come up instinctively, wrapping around Connor’s torso as his head bounces against Markus’ chest. Beneath him, Connor’s legs blur away—and immediately it drops Markus to his knees, the full weight of his tail dragging Markus down with him. It hits the ground with an almost comical slap.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by the loud ‘clang!’ of Connor’s bracelet sliding from the wolf’s slack jaw and hitting the ground.

 **_Okay,_ ** says North’s voice in Markus’ head. **_Can someone explain to me what the actual_ ** **fuck** **_is going on?_ **

“...North?” Markus says slowly.

The wolf huffs, a surprisingly human sound. That, coupled with a quick eye roll, tells him all he needs to know.

 **_The wolf’s out of the bag now, I guess,_ ** North says, and slowly eases from her tense crouch. **_Yeah, it’s me._ **

Markus knows his face is doing something. He can feel it doing something. But as far as what it’s doing? Not a single damn clue. “How…?” He finally says, and just sort of… gestures vaguely. Then realizes that his arms are still hooked beneath Connor’s.

 **_I’m a… werewolf, you could say. I got turned only a few weeks ago._ ** She looks away, shuffling slightly, her massive paws scooting sheepishly over the gouges in the floor. Then she looks back up. **_And that’s all I’m saying on the matter, because_ ** **you** **_have a_ ** **mermaid** **_in your lap right now, Markus, what…??_ **

“It’s a long story. This is Connor,” he says tiredly. “Connor, this is North. You two spoke before.”

“Hello,” Connor says, and waves.

Markus immediately lets out a hissing breath, eyes caught on the ragged blue gash across his arm. But before he can even ask, Connor quickly interjects, “I’m okay.”

“That does _not_ look okay,” he replies. “North, can you turn back now? I’m going to grab the first aid kit.”

 **_Good idea,_ ** she says, then sits back.

Markus immediately looks away. He doesn’t need to see any more scarring eldritch transformations today, thanks. From the corner of his eye, he catches only a glimpse as her shadow unfolds into a more familiar shape, then looks back as she stands up.

“Sorry about that,” she says to Connor, a wry tilt to her lips.

“It’s okay,” he replies.

“But please try not to attack him again,” Markus adds, only half-joking, and slides out carefully from under him. He turns back to the door, points at North. “I’ll be right back.”

“Aye aye, captain,” she replies, saluting.

He rolls his eyes and heads for the kitchen.

“I believe this is yours,” he hears her say, before her voice turns indistinct.

\--

North corners him as he’s putting the first aid kit away, and he nearly walks into her as he turns. Her arms are crossed, one eyebrow raised—which raises higher as he jumps.

“Soooo…” she draws out. “You’re taking this pretty well.”

He sighs. “At this point, I’m willing to take anything magical at face value. Why not werewolves? We have mermaids already.”

“Dragons,” North says.

“What?”

“Dragons,” she repeats. “They exist.”

The sound that escapes him is barely human, probably somewhere within the sonic capabilities of bats. “They’re _real?!”_

“Real annoying, yeah. Well,” she concedes, “their kids are.”

 _“_ You’ve seen _baby dragons?!”_

“Chances are you’ve seen one, too.”

Markus’ thoughts feel like one big exclamation mark, and clearly it shows, because she eyes him, eyes his slack-jawed surprise, then shakes her head.

“They’re not as fun as you might think,” she says drily. “Ask Connor. I’m sure he knows.”

“This _is_ his first time on land, you know. He didn’t know what a dog was; dragons might be a little beyond him.”

“Oh, he definitely knew what a dog was. Miasmic knowledge means he knows anything the average human would know.”

Markus opens his mouth to retort, then closes it. “Well…” He says finally, then trails off.

She looks at him, then turns away, leaning back against the counter as she stares out onto the backyard. “...You like him, don’t you?”

Markus groans. “North, please don’t–”

“No, I don’t mean it like _that._ We’re not twelve anymore; this isn’t a sleepover.” She snorts. “No, I mean you find him likeable. Among other things. Don’t think I didn’t see the shorts, before… y’know. Everything.”

“In my defense, it was the only thing I could find on the ship,” he replies, trying not to blush. “...but yeah. Maybe.”

She snorts. “‘Maybe’ my ass.” Then she sobers. “You realize he’s dangerous, right?”

“Says the person who turned into a wolf and nearly ate his arm.”

“Well, so am I. So are all of us. We’re not human, Markus. And sometimes, it shows. The older ones… it’s like something in them _twists_ over time. They’re cold, like… like they’re _soulless,_ or–or something worse.”

Sometimes, he catches the calm assessment in Connor’s eyes, a steely assuredness to his steady gaze that Markus has only ever seen in the eyes of apex predators. Unflinching, unhesitating, unafraid.

“If he wanted me dead, I’m sure he would’ve done it by now,” he replies, completely certain.

She studies his face for a moment. “Just be careful, okay?” She finally says. “You don’t know what he’s capable of. What we— _they’re_ all capable of.”

“...North, what happened?”

“That’s a story for later. When we’re both drunk.” She shakes her head. “I just want you to be safe, Markus. I have good reason not to trust aethers. And yeah, maybe he’s not like the other aethers I’ve met. But there’s something a little cold to him, too.” She looks at him. “And I think you’ve noticed, haven’t you?”

Markus doesn’t reply. Can’t reply.

There’s a pause. Then she squints at him. “You really _were_ giving him human lessons, huh?

“Would I ever lie to you?”

Her pointed look is unfortunately telling. “Do I really have to answer that? ‘Contemporary, mechanized art?’”

“Okay,” he concedes, after some consideration. “That’s pretty fair.”

She claps him on the back. “Work on your lying skills, nerd. I’ll stop preaching. I can see your little gay brain glaze over whenever I say something, you know.”

“Pottle, meet–shit. Pot,” he stresses, speaking over North’s sudden laughter. _“Pot,_ meet _kettle, North stop laughing–”_

“Clearly your higher processing isn’t working right now,” she says between guffaws. “Were the shorts really that powerful?”

“Nope, you’re leaving,” Markus announces. “Out! No bullying on my Christian server!”

“I’ll go, I’ll go,” she cackles. “No need to tell me twice.”

\--

The door is partly ajar when he returns, and his heart sinks. It was definitely closed before. When he enters, Connor’s coiled primly around the desk chair. He’s staring down at the bracelet in his hands, turning it idly as its gems flicker between gold and red.

“...You could hear us, couldn’t you,” Markus says finally.

Connor’s silent for a moment. “I caught bits of the conversation, yes,” he admits.

Markus braces for it. The pause is nerve wracking, and he watches as Connor opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly struggling for words. After several false starts, he finally says, “She’s right, you know.”

Then he smiles, something cherubic and sweet…

…and completely, utterly false. His smile doesn’t meet his eyes when he looks back up at Markus, and for the first time in a long time, his expression is completely unreadable to him.

“I _did_ know what a dog was,” he says lightly.

“Oh?” Markus replies levelly, as if his heartbeat hadn’t just shot through the roof.

“I just hadn’t anticipated there would be so many. And they all look so different!” He sighs. “It’s remarkable.”

But there’s something he’s not saying, a fact that’s clear even to Markus. Least of all because his bracelet is shining red. It’s in the growing distance in his eyes, the slow fading of his smile. The way he deliberately puts down the bracelet, lets its gems fade back to a neutral blue.

“It’s getting late,” he says after a pause. “I should go back.”

Markus frowns, squatting down. “Connor, it’s barely mid-afternoon,” he points out, then softens his voice. “If this is about North, I know that was a rough start. But whatever the aetherborn she met did, that wasn’t _you.”_

“I know, I just… don’t want to interfere with your friendship.”

Markus can’t help it. He snorts. “Don’t worry, we’ve been friends for this long—hell, we were friends in _junior high._ At this point, I think our friendship could make it through the apocalypse.” He smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

Connor ducks his head. “Thank you, Markus.” His smile grows a little more genuine, then quirks on one side. “Now, I recall someone promising me dogs.”

Laughing, Markus replies, “Let’s try some legs first, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, folks!! real life came at me swinging a bat and also it was a tough chapter to get through, oof. but here it is! hope you enjoy~~


End file.
